


The Dangers of Fair Maidens in Pretty Dresses

by drearyabi



Series: Dangers of Fair Maidens [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Azor Ahai, BAMF Sansa Stark, Daenerys Targaryen Deserves Better, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Game of Thrones Fix-It, Jaime's arc fixed, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week, Jon Snow Needs a Hug, Lesbian Margaery Tyrell, Margaery Tyrell Lives, Married Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark Deserves Better, Sansa Stark-centric, Slow Burn, Warg Sansa Stark, sanrion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 95,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drearyabi/pseuds/drearyabi
Summary: A small change in the history of Westeros has dramatic implications. Due to Varys' meddling, Sansa finds out about the plot to kill Joffrey and consequently, at least for a while, he is allowed to live. After learning that she has had little control over the role she had played in the game of thrones so far, Sansa has to teach herself to decide her own fate for once, impacting the rest of the world around her.Bit of a fix-it fic for the series, combining it with the books.





	1. The Poisoned Chalice

**Author's Note:**

> Some lines taken from 'A Storm of Swords'

Sansa fingered the hairnet carefully, still uncertain of it, running the soft lace detailing across her hand as she examined the jewels. It had been so long since Ser Dontos had gifted it to her that she’d nearly forgotten that it existed or that she was supposed to wear it to the Royal Wedding. She had spotted it sitting neatly amongst her borrowed clothes and jewellery and was struck by the jewels sewn into the fabric. ‘Black amethysts from Asshai’ her Florian had told her, yet she was sure she’d never heard of seen such stones- surely if they were common she would know them or if they were rare the name would mean something more to her. For once in a long time she longed to see her Septa again- Septa Mordane would know what these were. She held them up to the light streaming in from the window and her hesitancy faltered: what danger could lie in such simple, small jewels? It had to be pure coincidence that the stones matched so well with the materials she had selected to sew her dress for the upcoming wedding.

Sansa placed it with the rest, some gifts, some brought from Winterfell, and took a glance at the piles of material she’d left alone since they’d arrived in her chambers as requested several days ago now. There was nothing she loved more than sewing and, in another life perhaps, sewing one for the royal wedding would have occupied every ounce of her free time but every time she picked up a needle, she could only see the King’s cruel face, Joffrey laughing at her, or poor Margaery, and she swiftly set the work aside for another time. Time was drawing to a close and if she did not start soon, she would arrive at the Sept in nothing at all- Sansa smiled softly at that thought, just to spite everyone.

_No,_ she reminded herself, _you are good, you must celebrate the union like everyone else_. So, with an irritated sigh she picked through the material and laid it out upon her bed, rearranging the different designs until the patterns went together and the colours stopped clashing. It felt like the fabric was mocking her as she made a dress for the wedding of one of the people she hated most in the world- he was currently tied for first place with his grandfather and the traitor Roose Bolton.

Frustrated, she threw the fabric she held down and gathered herself together, concluding that a walk of the grounds may help clear her mind of every ill that had befallen her, every ill that kept taking root in her mind and not allowing her any respite until it was through with its torture.

The grounds were cool and pleasant as usual, and she let herself feel content in the afternoon sun and the silence. Of course, she’d trade the sun for the chill of Winterfell in a heartbeat but the heat upon her skin combined with the light reflecting off the pools in the gardens did have a certain appeal that she couldn’t deny. Her walks had often lacked horror too, which was better than most of her experiences in the Red Keep, and Sansa smiled fondly as she recalled walking with Loras, Margaery and even Tyrion- her life wasn’t anywhere near what she’d expected yet those brief moments of joy she’d shared with such people made it worth living. Nevertheless, she wouldn’t be here much longer anyway, if Lord Baelish was to be believed, which he probably wasn’t but she didn’t have much choice, and, if he _was_ honest, her memories of Kings Landing would soon fade away she expected.

As she walked, she became aware of a small boy nearby, always a few strides away, keeping just out of sight but flitting into vision every now and again. _He wants to be seen _she guessed; most of the spies of the Red Keep knew how to move around the castle like ghosts but he was barely trying to be subtle. To test her theory, she stopped and sat on the next bench which lined the path, pretending to have been overcome by the heat of the day. The boy stopped in his tracks, shot her a look she couldn’t easily decipher, then continued down the path, passing her and re-entering the keep through an archway. It was a game, she considered as she waited a few moments before picking up her skirts and following him inside, an attempt at teasing her, letting her know someone was waiting and that secrets and mischief would soon follow. Such was life in the Red Keep, spies lined the halls like portraits and every word said likely meant something wholly different. I seemed it often befell to her to muddle through the cryptic clues she was thrown, hoping one would lead her down a path to her freedom. For a brief second, she wondered if that’s where this child was leading her, down into the castle and out again to the small boats harboured just out of view. Not that she could row of course, but such thoughts ensured she got out of bed each morning, kept her playing the game she had long grown sick of.

Yet, she was not led outside or forced to row to Winterfell. Instead she was led into a small room she had not noticed before, a room with a single window, single table and two chairs. Sitting in one of those chairs, handing a small pouch to the gamin who had escorted her to him sat the spider, Varys, a man Sansa had as much faith in as she did Littlefinger.

‘You’ve found my nest.’ He spoke softly and carefully, gesturing to the seat which she did not take.

‘Lord Varys?’ Sansa did not bring up the fact that she had not found his nest but been taken to him, raising her eyebrow slightly in confusion.

‘Just Varys please,’ he insisted, ‘there’s no need to appear so gaunt child, I have not brought you here for an interrogation. I always bear you Starks good news when you expect the worst, it seems.’

_He wants me to trust him, _Sansa concluded, remembering that everything Lord Varys said had some double meaning she was expected to read into, _he was good to my father, offered him good counsel and tried to save him. But it didn’t work of course, he doesn’t want me to think of that. _

‘Thank you for your service to my family.’ She repeated almost coldly. He sat back in his chair for moment, pondering, then rose and turned his back on her, rooting through some papers and parcels until he drew a larger package from the pile and set it down upon the table in front of her.

‘Go on,’ he asserted, ‘It’s a gift not a death warrant.’

Sansa did as she was bid and pulled apart the packaging, feeling suddenly quite giddy at the prospect of a gift. Since her arrival in Kings Landing her name days went unheralded as they had done in the North- she didn’t bother anyone with that information, so for some time now the last true gifts she had received were from her wedding to Tyrion. Although her Lord Husband would keenly procure anything she asked of him, like fabrics for dresses or a new brush set for her hair, but she suspected her did so out of guilt, so they didn’t truly count.

Beneath the carefully packed layers of material she encountered, Sansa uncovered the fine silks and lace of a piece of clothing and after fully removing the packaging, she stood back, astounded by what she had been presented with.

‘A dress?’ she at last breathed, suddenly aware of Varys’ watchful eyes upon her, ‘oh, it’s beautiful. Why? Why is this for me?’ For a second she forgot herself, forgot her situation, forgot that she couldn’t trust anyone in this snake pit. The fabrics were fine, she could tell from just a glance and she allowed herself to inspect the silks as she ran her fingers through them. It was forest green, embellished with cloth of gold at the hem and end of the sleeves. The gold snakes wound in strange patterns, elaborate yet equally subtle- she traced one’s path with her finger absentmindedly.

_We’re all liars here._

She pulled away as if the needlework had pricked her and shot Varys a suspicious look. ‘Why is this for me?’ she repeated with all the resolve she could muster in front of the illusive spider.

‘A tailor in the city was owed a favour by the crown,’ he explained coolly, ‘he helped the City Watch protect businesses during riots but refused payment. A commission was all he required and as the Queen Regent and Lady Margaery already had dresses made up from the forthcoming royal wedding, the honour was given to you instead as a noble lady and aunt to the King.’ He smiled in a manner that at least partly offered reassurance.

They remained in silence for a while as Sansa weighed her options. She had no dress to wear to the wedding and every attempt she made to make one had only resulted in irritation and nothing of use. And this dress was nice, fit for a true noble lady instead of the captive she was. _Perhaps I can pretend for just a day to be one of them. That will enrage Cersei. _She would have Tyrion look it over, just be certain there was no trick to it: but what danger was there in a pretty dress?

‘It truly is fine,’ Tyrion agreed as he looked over the gift his Lady wife had been presented with. When she’d come to him with a present from Varys he assumed it was some kind of threat from the Queen or like yet, as far as he could ascertain the dress itself was harmless. Nevertheless, he continued his examination, wondering if the dress was more of a symbolic threat than a physical one, ‘have you received any other gifts recently?’

‘Just this,’ Sansa pulled the hairnet from her belongings, laying it down beside the dress.

‘From the Spider too?’

‘No, my Lord, from Ser Dontos, for saving him on Joffrey’s name day.’ She decided against telling him the whole truth, of how Ser Dontos had promised her freedom and that she had often visited him in the Godswood.

‘That was quite a while ago now Sansa, and please, call me Tyrion- it is my name after all.’

He now took to looking over the hairnet itself, not that he was any kind of expert on such things yet back in Casterly Rock the mines could bring up many kinds of treasure and sometimes he was allowed to explore such wonders.

‘You didn’t think to bring this to me?’ he questioned, ‘the dress seems innocuous, yet this is a little out of the ordinary- did Ser Dontos tell you where he got it?’

‘An heirloom, he said he knew he would never produce an heir to pass it on to so I would at least bring his family some final honour. And I didn’t bother you it because it is not uncommon to receive a gift from someone you have helped- but I have done nothing for Lord Varys.’ _And the last gown someone gifted me was for our wedding. _But she couldn’t say that aloud, it wasn’t his fault.

‘A family heirloom with new lacework?’ She didn’t reply, ‘Sansa?’

Sansa knew something had been asked of her, but she was struck at the sudden realisation that putting the dress and hairnet together brought her.

‘I can’t wear them together.’

‘What?’

‘The colours clash completely, see?’ She took the hairnet from him and held it against the fabric which now even Tyrion could see produced an unfavourable combination. 

Tyrion was silent for a moment, considering why such strange, conflicting items would be presented to his wife and why it seemed significant that each was worn to his nephews wedding.

‘So a knight-turned-fool presents you with a hairnet, lying about its origin so that you can honour his family and Varys hands you a beautiful dress so that you can honour a tailor.’ He concluded aloud, ‘Tell me my lady, if you had no suspicion about either, would you wear the hairnet or dress to the wedding?’

She thought for a short time, thinking as Margaery would think, before responding. ‘The dress, I think. Varys told me the tailor made the dress especially for the wedding so will be looking out for me. If I am wearing anything but his work, it will seem an insult to him and he may think himself slighted by the royal family. Ser Dontos made no request for when to wear the hairnet, it just happened to match what I intended to wear. There will surely be another event to which I can wear it.’

‘So, the dress stops the hairnet being worn, which must stop something else from happening.’

‘I’ve heard stories,’ Sansa spoke quietly, unsure whether she could find a solution to the problem where the wisdom of Tyrion faltered, ‘of poisoners who could hide their poisons inside the jewels of rings to quickly pour in a goblet or a whole cask of drink if needed.’

Wordlessly, he took the hairnet from her once more and paid more attention to the individual jewels. He turned each of them, pushing and prodding them, sighed, then repeated the action with each. Sansa watched on in silence, wondering if she was truly being used as a pawn by Ser Dontos to poison someone at the wedding. She had long thought him her saviour, her Florian, but could he simply be using her after all? Was she really that naïve to let herself be fooled by a man once more- she had sworn after her father’s murder that she could never allow another man, or woman for that matter, to play a mummer’s game with her again. She had brought the dress to Tyrion half with the hope that he would find something suspect and that she would be embroiled in some intrigue, but she had no intention to murder and now she made a silent prayer that he would find nothing at all.

_Click_

Tyrion let out a small squeal of accomplishment as one of the gems came away from the rest in his hands. He turned away from her and poured out a cup of wine from the flagon that she rarely used but he frequented. He then brought the goblet back to her and dropped the loose stone in the cup, swilling the liquid around so it washed evenly over it. A minute later he reached for a second cup and poured the wine into it, both letting out a gasp to when it was clear the stone had dissolved.

‘It seems that you were right, my lady.’ He set both goblets down carefully and returned to the hairnet, ‘solid poison, quite ingenious really. But terrible of course-‘ he trailed off.

Of course, there were a great number of noble lords and ladies attending the wedding and every one of them had their enemies, so anyone could be the target. However, the this plan seemed complex, the poisoner would need to linger near Sansa for long enough to remove the stone, would need to have proper reason to speak to Sansa so that it was not deemed suspicious and then would need to get close enough to their target’s drink to poison it.

‘The poisoner must be someone highborn and they will probably be seated on the dais so that they can have easy access to you.’

‘A number of people will be on the dais, Joffrey, Cersei, Tywin, Tommen, and of course the Tyrells. I expect there will be a number of guards around us too no doubt.’

Sansa felt sick to her stomach. Her reservations had proven justified and now there was no way of unknowing all they had uncovered today. Initially it all could have been pure happenstance, nothing out of the ordinary yet the discovery of the poison proved that they had actually uncovered a plot against some member of the Lannisters of the Tyrells. Were her midnight liasons with Ser Dontos just part of the ploy to get her to trust him and blindly play a role in someone’s murder?_ What if it was intended for Margaery, or innocent Tommen, or Lady Olenna? _Sansa balked at the idea of her inadvertedly killing someone who bore her no ill or one of the Tyrells who had made her days in the Keep bearable.

‘My head aches with all of this Tyrion and it’s getting late.’ That was only partly true, her head was spinning with the most terrible things, but she wasn’t like the weak ladies who could only think hard for short periods of time before falling into a fever. She was mostly disheartened at the realisation that the promises of freedom offered to her were likely to be empty and she could well be a prisoner of the Lannister’s forever.

‘I shall take my leave of you then.’ Tyrion bowed deeply but before he left, he turned back, ‘I will see if I can find out the seating plan. Do not fret Sansa, we shall find the truth of all of this.’

‘We must bring it to Cersei!’

Sleep had evaded Sansa that night so, until exhaustion finally took her in the small hours of the morning, she sat awake, thinking through her options and every possible outcome. Ultimately it boiled down to two options; wear the hairnet and play a role in an assassination, or not wear it and let the opportunity slip away. She couldn’t be certain whom the poison was meant for nor whom intended to administer it yet if it was destined for Joffrey, Cersei or Tywin, who was she to stand in the way of their timely demises?

For a long while she had convinced herself to let the murder happen and, perhaps, sit back and enjoy the wedding entertainment but her dreams brought her more strife as the kind face of Margaery and the youthful smiles of young Tommen plagued her, throwing her into a greater predicament by the time she awoke.

_Family, Duty, Honour_

Would that her mother was still here, to give her the advice she sorely needed to hear. Was it truly honourable to let a murder take place in order to satisfy personal spite? Her father, though no Tully, had lived by these words too _but what did that get them, either of them; the Lannisters care little for honour. _

She eased herself from her coverlet, slipped into fresh small clothes and called for Shae to help tie her into her dress, choosing something simple and delicate _because that’s all I am to them, simple and delicate. The Lannisters, Varys and even Ser Dontos simply used the bereaved, pious girl to their advantage. I have seen through their plots this time however, why not play their game?_

The serving girl had now moved to braiding her hair and Sansa instructed her specifically to choose a style similar to whatever the Queen Regent had worn the previous day, just to press the message that she was still but a little bird, singing other people’s songs.

She sent the girl away, asking her to fetch Tyrion on the way out, anxious to share her plans with him. As she was left alone though, anticipating his entrance, she imagined herself from his perspective- the innocent traitor he had been forced to take on, with no true experience of the world, now so besotted with her own imagination that she believed she had thought up something clever. She slumped down on their bed and awaited his mockery.

‘We must bring it to Cersei!’ Sansa blurted as he entered alongside Ser Bronn, the sellsword with the foul mouth.

‘What?’

‘The hairnet. You must request an audience with Cersei and the Lord Hand, if possible, and then we can tell them what we’ve found.’ She said as he took a seat at the window.

‘And if this is Cersei’s plan all along?’

‘Why would she disrupt Joffrey’s wedding? I doubt she loves the Tyrells but the city must eat, everyone knows that.’

‘Yes. But, and I mean no offense my Lady, I had you for one to celebrate any failure of my family. Surely you, above most, would just love to see one suffer, perhaps even perish?’

‘My Lord, Tyrion, I wish Joffrey dead with every breath I take yet I know this is not the way. Anyway, I think more can be done here if we play along with your family.’

Bar being slightly concerned with her eagerness to kill off his nephew, Tyrion was impressed, he had heard before his marriage to the Stark girl that she was as foolish as Butterbumps and though she was persistent in her feigned loyalty to Joffrey, he had rarely seen much to prove the naysayers wrong – but now she was beginning to make some sense.

When he did not reply, Sansa continued, explaining her plan, extending her original ideas as she went as he sat patiently, inputting his own ideas every so often. By midday, they had some semblance of a strategy and Tyrion called for Podrick Payne, his squire, to seek out his sister and father post haste, leaving himself as well to run some errands and further consider their plan.

Sansa sat in their chambers the rest of the afternoon, waiting to for Cersei to reject their request, waiting to hear the Queen’s laughter echoing through the halls of the Keep. Yet, as Sansa nibbled at a piece of bread she hoped she could stomach, Podrick returned with Cersei’s acceptance and she bid him leave again to fetch Tyrion for her. He had only spoken of Cersei, a slight disappointment, but Sansa was sure she’d have another chance to impress her good-father when the time came.

Several minutes later Tyrion, who had been with his books once more, entered and, smoothing down her skirts, Sansa rose and joined him with the hairnet in hand, her heart thumping erratically as they made their way to the council rooms. They spoke little as they walked, Sansa putting most of her energy into remembering what she had planned to say and Tyrion thinking through every way his sister could turn this on them, every way she could use this to punish them.

At long last they stopped before the ornate oaken doors of the council chamber and while the guards informed Cersei of their arrival, Tyrion glanced up at his young wife, at her stern expression that was given away by her trembling hands. Without thinking, he reached up and caught hold of one of them, giving it a firm squeeze and shooting her the most sincere look he could muster. Her hands didn’t shake anymore.

The doors opened to them and, in deep conversation, the Queen Regent sat with Tywin Lannister, ignoring them plainly. As always, Sansa noted, Cersei Lannister was radiant, even in the council chamber where no one could gaze on her adoringly. Her golden curls hang loosely about her shoulders, kept from her face by a simple but elegant gold and emerald circlet that brought out the green of her eyes even in the fading autumn light. Her dress was the colour of peaches, a golden rope encircling and cinching her waist whilst the silks fell loosely in wide sleeves currently draped over herself and the table before them. Tywin Lannister seemed to share her stress of fine appearance, dressed in a dark onyx tunic emblazoned with golden lions. His hand was closed in a fist upon the wood, displaying the range of perfect gems he wore as rings – Sansa noted a ruby, amber and a blue gem she was unfamiliar with.

‘Yes child?’

Sansa had been so focused on their appearance she had barely heard when Tyrion spoke up first, nor had she noticed the silence that followed as they waited for her to speak. She didn’t know what strange nerves had taken her; she’d spoken with the Queen on many occasions yet the weight of the knowledge she held was growing heavier by the second and she knew that if she performed well here, she may finally get to play the game she had been swept up in ever since her father had brought her to Kings Landing.

_Father give me courage, _she prayed silently, not certain whether she spoke to Eddard Stark or the Father of the Seven.

Cersei had called her child. She had flowered, had she not? She was married, wasn’t she? Still, she remembered Ser Dontos’ advice, _let her think of me of a child for a bit longer, let her not expect anything from me until it is too late._

‘We have uncovered treason your Grace, my Lord Hand.’ She spoke finally, laying the hairnet down upon the table. Taking a deep breath, Sansa took them both through their discovery, Tyrion dropping the stone in a goblet as he’d done in their chambers and passing it to Cersei to inspect.

‘I sent it to an expert in these matters,’ Tyrion began when she had finished, ‘it’s a particularly potent poison- the strangler. It kills in less than a minute.

‘How did you come into possession of this?’ Cersei raised an eyebrow. A finger tapping impatiently on the table.

‘It was left in a envelope marked for me in the Godswood. There was a letter in there too, telling me to wear in to the wedding. There was no name or signature.’ From a pocket Tyrion now produce the note that they had forged in order to avoid a manhunt. Sansa still hadn’t explained to Tyrion why exactly she had been speaking to Ser Dontos but he didn’t ask and they both agreed to shield the fool from their suspicions.

‘Thank you for this, both of you. You have done us a great service and have avoided a cruel death. I shall see to it that you are rewarded Lady Sansa, it seems you have proven yourself worthy of some Lannister jewels and my daughter has been hoarding them a little too long.’ He paused then cast Tyrion a less savoury look, ‘and you, you know what still must be done.’

‘Yes… thank you.’ Cersei barely whispered and father and daughter sat in silence for a while waiting for their company to leave.

‘There is something else, if you’d allow me my Lord Hard, your Grace.’ Sansa said catching Tyrion’s eye, urging her onwards.

‘Go on.’

‘We don’t know who planned to commit such an atrocity at the wedding and I expect you will be interested in uncovering the treason, as with my father. It may take a lot of searching to find who left the hairnet in the first and they could be oblivious to the plan but, if we played with them a little, we could uncover the traitor and justice can be done.’

‘Justice,’ Cersei thought on the word carefully, ‘Ned Stark was a particular fan of justice but that didn’t get him very far.’

‘If we went on with their ploy, and I wore it to the wedding,’ Sansa went on, pretending not to have heard Cersei’s mention of her father, ‘we could have guards watch me carefully, keep an eye on who speaks to me and whether they remove the stone.’

‘And if they get it off? Who’s to say they won’t go unnoticed and poison someone? You truly are as foolish as they say, or perhaps your traitor’s blood still sings for Lannister blood?’ Cersei placed two white hands on the table and a dark look overcame her face, Tyrion took a step back, instinctively but Sansa held her ground, Cersei was not the source of power in this room and Lord Tywin seemed more intrigued than offended.

‘And who’s to say that if she doesn’t wear damned thing the poisoner wouldn’t have a back-up plan and kill one of us nonetheless?’ Lord Tywin shot Cersei a similar look to that which he had given Tyrion and, after opening her mouth briefly as if to say something, Cersei regained her composure and Sansa continued.

‘If the stones were replaced with something else, the traitor would never know, and everyone would watch their crime.’

‘Any other alternative puts the King’s life in danger, or yours father, or even yours sweet sister.’ Tyrion finished for her, ‘Lady Sansa has found the safest and most effective way to uncover this treason, unless you have better ideas?’ He glanced from father to sister but neither offered anything and with a curt nod, he smiled, satisfied. Sansa relaxed somewhat too, allowed her shoulders to drop as Lord Tywin thought over her plan. _It doesn’t matter whether they use it now anyway. I made my point. _

‘Tyrion is right.’ Lord Tywin admitted reluctantly, this will avoid anymore suffering and reveal the culprit. I will instruct the guards that Lady Sansa is herself suspicious so that they record who speaks to you we can keep our eyes open as well for this.’ He took the hairnet, ‘I’ll send this back to you when it poses no threat to my family.’

‘No, you can’t! She can’t be trusted. This is some plot, why would she want to save any of us?’ Cersei raised her voice once more her finger pointing sharply at Sansa who remained silent. For once they agreed on something. The Lannisters had killed three members of her family using trickery, why shouldn’t she repay them in the same?

‘It is the noble thing to do.’ She smiled as sweetly as she could, playing the part of the little bird to the best of her abilities.

‘You are a Stark after all.’ Tywin almost chuckled then, directing his words to Cersei he stood, ‘it is settled, and I’ll hear no more about it. Leave me now, I have important letters to write.’

Cersei gathered her skirts and stalked out of the room, stopping just briefly to shout a command at a serving girl outside of the door. Sansa and Tyrion turned to take their leave, Tyrion shooting her a grin as soon as his father couldn’t see.

‘Sansa, a word?’

His grin soured but she gave him a reassuring nod and turned back to the table. When the door softly shut behind Tyrion, Tywin pulled out a chair and sat down, reclining almost casually as he regarded her carefully.

‘I didn’t expect this from you, child.’

‘I just meant to do my duty.’

‘A lady’s duty is to look after the home and bear her husband many children not stop assassinations and tell the Hand of the King what to do.’

Sansa shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, ‘I meant no offence. I just wanted to-‘

‘Do your duty, yes, you said. My daughter informed me that you were of little consequence and no threat to our family, despite your blood. She told me she’d trained her little bird, but trusting Cersei has never been a strong move to make.’

‘I don’t understand, my Lord.’

‘I’m impressed child. That’s all.’

‘Thank you, my Lord.’

‘If this plan truly works, perhaps we could put you to good use. Anyway, as I said I have things to attend to, you may go.’ He motioned towards the door but stopped her again before she’d had the chance to move away, ‘You should probably wear the pretty new dress Varys got you, with all the gold, I want to see that blasted eunuch squirm when he’s sees you wearing both. Go on now, you have things to do I’m sure.’

‘What did he say?’

Tyrion had been anxiously waiting outside and jumped when she pushed the door open, glad that he hadn’t been able to hear any shouting from his father; she hadn’t been crying either.

‘That I need a new handmaid.’ Sansa walked on, not too quickly as to leave him behind.

‘What?’

‘Your father knew about Varys’ dress, even knew the colour. And he _wanted_ me to know that he knows, he made a point of the gold in it. That girl Shae must be one of his.’

‘How do you know it was her? You have several girls tending to you, anyone of them could have spoken to him.’ Tyrion tried to reassure himself. Shae had been good to him for so long now, respected the difficultly of the situation and hadn’t seemed bothered by his new wife, so how could she know betray him.

‘I got the dress yesterday and it was only unwrapped when I showed it to you in the evening. Only Shae has been near it since then with enough time to report to your father. When Varys had it, it was sealed in a bag that gave no clue to its contents and I carried it out in that too. Shae is the only person with constant access to my clothes, the only one who would notice something new. If your father had just sent someone to find out what Varys had given me, the gown wouldn’t stand out from anything else in there.’

‘I- I won’t believe it.’

‘Why not? You told me yourself the others were in your sister’s service beforehand. Sahe stood out from the rest – I never trusted her.Some people would do anything for coin.’ That wasn’t completely true. At first Sansa had been suspicious of the foreign beauty that entered her service and she’d received a few dark looks when they’d first met yet the more they spoke, the more Sansa leaned towards her, trusted her. They’d walked the docks together, discussed Lord Baelish and she’d told Shae about the dress too- not that she’d admit her mistake to Tyrion. _First Ser Dontos and now Shae, who will betray me next?_

Tyrion didn’t reply and they walked on in silence. _Foolish, foolish imp _he berated himself, _she was just a whore, a camp follower who stuck around because I’m a fucking Lannister and why wouldn’t she? _He could hear his father’s taunts already playing out ‘ if you won’t bed Sansa Stark you can’t bed anyone at all.’ But Shae? He trusted her against his own better judgement and loved her, hadn’t he? Perhaps she was just a bed warmer for him as much as he was an employer to her, perhaps they were equally terrible to eachother.

‘I’ll deal with her.’ He at last spoke up before Sansa left him at their rooms, ‘She won’t bother us any longer.’

‘And I’ll be dyeing my dress, though it’s a shame to ruin the colours.’ Sansa noticed the dullness of his usually bright, if mismatched, eyes. She smiled softly, ‘thank you for helping me today and for whatever will follow, I think I’m finally learning.’

He chuckled at that and pressed her hand between his own, ‘You’ve been learning ever since you arrived here Sansa, but now you are _understanding,’_ and, with a sad smile, he turned on his heel and left.

Time sped as they neared the wedding, the Queen growing ever more frantic as she arranged last-minute changes and dealt with the increasing number of guests and entertainers piling into the Red Keep. The day before the wedding, the hairnet returned to Sansa’s chambers, sitting with other jewellery, as if it had never left. She hardly slept that night.

The next morning maids flurried around her, helping her into her dress, styling her hair and fixing the hairnet atop her head; Tyrion had selected these ones himself and she supposed he paid them personally to ensure they weren’t so easily bought as Shae had been. As he had promised, the foreign girl had not been seen in the keep since Tyrion had spoken to her.

Exhaling, Sansa smoothed down the fabric of her dress now grey and violet instead of green and gold in order to match the dark stones. Even now, as she admired herself in her looking glass, she couldn’t imagine such beautiful stones being so terrible but she supposed that had been the point, to blind her with their beauty and force her complicity.

‘You look lovely Sansa.’ One of the maids had admitted him. He stood proudly in his deep crimson tunic decorated with gold as her dress had been, lions dancing upon his shoulder. For once his golden curls sat evenly and tidily upon his head.

‘And you very handsome, my Lord.’ Sansa responded habitually but when she looked upon him, she found she had not been incorrect. Margaery had had the right of it when she’d declared him attractive. At first, she’d found him repulsive but in his fine attire, combined with the warm smile he saved just for her, she could look past his scar and nose.

As planned, they broke their fast with the Lannisters and Tyrell men, suffering through Joffrey’s foul jests and Cersei’s cruel expression she saved just for Sansa. Sansa barely stifled a shout when the King destroyed the fine book Tyrion had procured for him but she gritted her teeth and smiled through it, even as Tyrion grew evidently more agitated with every passing moment.

The ceremony itself was far more successful that their own had be, though neither said it aloud but Sansa was glad for its end as her legs had grown tired from standing still for so long and it seemed that her husband’s bladder wads fit to burst from the wine he had already drunk.

In the carriage back to the keep, Tyrion tried to amuse her with promises of stealing her away to Casterly Rock and, whilst all she longed for was freedom from Kings Landing, she wasn’t sure that the Rock would prove much better; she would still be a wold surrounded by hungry lions. She looked into the curtains, closed so the crowds wouldn’t know Tyrion was inside, and tried to remember Winterfell as best as she could. It was gone now, that much she knew, but she had to at least try to hold on to her fading memories of her childhood home or else she’d never make it back.

Outside the throne room, she spoke cordially with others lingering around the door, watching them all carefully.

‘You do look quite exquisite, child.’ Sansa was taken off-guard by the entrance of Lady Olenna in her cloth of gold gown, followed by Left and Right silently. ‘The wind had been at your hair, though.’

Sansa smiled politely at the compliment and even bent her head as the little old woman reached up to fix her hair before she realised herself, cursing how easily she was yet again taken in by fine words. Before she could reach the hairnet, Sansa’s hand shot up and, as calmly as she could under pressure, she brushed her away. Instead she turned to Tyrion, engrossed in some conversation with his uncle.

‘Is there anything wrong with my hair, my Lord?’ She raised an eyebrow at him.

‘No,’ he peered up as if to take a proper look, ‘ you look perfect as always.’

‘Well, Lady Olenna,’ she touched her own hair to check, ‘it appears your eyes have deceived you today, luckily Lannisters have very good eyes.’ _There are eyes all around us, take my meaning woman. _

‘He is _just_ a man though, sweetling; I don’t even think he can see the top of your head.’ Her hands persisted, reaching again but, with a quick look to check that no one was paying much attention to them, Sansa caught her hand and held it there, watching the old woman’s eyes grow wide.

‘Do you doubt the King’s uncle? Lannisters know many things as well, things that Ladies like me cannot begin to understand.’ She dropped her hand and gave her own to Tyrion, and with a curt nod to the Lady Olenna, they followed a group and proceeded into the throne room.

‘So, the old thorn is poisonous?’ Tyrion uttered when they reached their place on the dais, ‘not exactly who I expected but I suppose no one is who they are expected to be within these walls.’

Sansa made no reply but chanced a look at the Queen of Thorns taking bites of the first of seventy-seven courses. How could the woman who had taken her in be an assassin? And why assassinate a Lannister when her grand-daughter had just become Queen? She was taken back to the day in which she’d eaten with the Tyrells and they’d gotten everything out of her about Joffrey- was that when she decided to do it or was this a far more long-term scheme. She betrayed nothing as she ate, not even a small sense of disappointment but she also refused to look in their direction – Sansa hoped that meant she’d gotten the message.

‘You know, you looked just like Cersei, back there.’ Sansa turned her attention back to her husband, whose drink was once more being refilled, ‘not in a bad way, you were just especially…cunning.’

She thought she should be mortified to be likened to Cersei, the woman who imprisoned her father and had helped her son torture her for years but the wit and sharpness of the Queen- Queen-mother now, couldn’t be denied. She smiled to herself as she sipped at a spoonful of broth, pretending to be interested in Butterbumps as he jumped through the tables singing loudly.

The feast went on dryly as each of the singers tried to outdo the others and each of the courses began piled up before her. She had lost her appetite completely when Joffrey had brought out his fighting dwarves, one dressed as her brother, her hand stiffening into a fist as they flew themselves down in front of the King. Tyrion was evidently seething more that she was so, to stop her nails drawing blood from her palm, she relaxed her hand and clasped it over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Yet even her touch couldn’t restrain him as Joffrey taunted him, urging him to join the fight then pouring his great goblet over his head when he displeased him. The wine soaked his hair and left great red stains upon his fine doublet and her new dress.

As Joffrey taunted her husband, just for few seconds, Sansa caught the eye of Lady Olenna and her stomach twisted terribly. She had meant to kill the King tonight and Sansa had stopped her. She’d stopped Olenna killing the vile boy who’d murdered her father, tortured her (and others if rumours were to be believed) and humiliated both her and her husband at every passing opportunity. She’d saved Cersei Lannister’s bastard- an illegitimate pretender that her father had died trying to resist. Her hand groped in her pocket for the tiny bead she’d sewed into the fabric, keeping any prying maids from finding it. Not even Tyrion knew that she’d kept one of the poisonous stones but now she seized it and brought her hand upon the table.

_He doesn’t deserve poison. _She had non idea how much he’d suffer if she dropped the stone in his drink; the goblet sat just next to her in Tyrion’s place. The Lannisters cut off her father’s head, put quarrels and a knife in her brother and slit her mother’s throat- poison would not be enough for the likes of them. _Robb would slit his throat as they did to mother, slit his throat and write his name in blood next to him for the whole world to see and remember. _

‘The North remembers.’ Strange words, she’d always thought but now she understood why her father had repeated them almost as much as ‘winter is coming’. She would remember, every word and deed they had done but the North would need to be patient too or else her excellent position would be wasted.

Joffrey called for the goblet again after taking a plate of pie and Tyrion obeyed diligently, moving it from her reach. A strange relief filled her however, as she replaced the bead in its pocket, she finally had a purpose in this viper pit.

_My skin has turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel and house Lannister will feel every inch of that steel before I leave this earth. _


	2. The Spider's Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tries to make some sense of what has happened.

Cersei closed in on her as they left the throne room. She hadn’t even noticed the Queen mother waiting for them outside the door. Sansa removed herself from the group of ladies that she had been walking with and stepped to the side.

‘The guards didn’t see anyone near you at all; if you betrayed us I swear that there is lovely cell below with your name on it. Maybe we _will_ get your name put over one, the one your father wasted away in, ready for anymore Stark traitors.’

‘No one came near me, your highness. Clearly someone figured out that we knew and abandoned their plan.’ Sansa smiled calmly as Cersei bristled at not being ‘your Grace’ anymore.

‘Well then you must have told someone, only myself and the Lord Hand knew, as well as my fool of brother but I’ve had men watching him.’

‘But the Hand sent the hairnet away to have the poison removed and new stones put in, didn’t he? Surely that needed the work of several people, all of which could have been questioned or spilled their knowledge in their cups?’ She raised an eyebrow, the way Tyrion had thought made her look just like Cersei, and turned away to catch up with her companions.

A hand shot out and caught her wrist in an iron grip, pulling her backwards until she was pressed against a wall out of sight, Cersei’s face looming over hers. ‘You have Tyrion in your pocket and you’ve fooled my father but don’t think for moment you can fool me with your sweet smiles and innocence. Your father threatened my family and we took off his head – don’t think I won’t have you dealt with too if I catch a whiff of treason.’ She released Sansa’s hand and stalked into the darkness of the hall.

Cradling her wrist, Sansa turned in the opposite direction and marched past the women who called after her back to her chambers. She wanted to throw open the windows and scream into the streets, she wanted to let her anger burn into reality and tell everyone just how much she hated almost everyone around her. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead she poured herself a cup of wine, drank it in two gulps then poured another and one more until she collapsed back into her bed, her head spinning and her legs aching from standing too long.

After a while, when the wine had taken its affect, she lay in bed as the room swayed around her, watching as the walls bled golden blood and the world outside turned white as thick snow blanketed the city. When morning came, the snow melted but the streets left behind were blackened and where buildings once stood, there was only empty shells and piles of debris. She rose from her bed to get a better look, feeling the chill in the air but the warmth of the earth on her feet, as if the Red Keep itself was burning beneath her. She searched the scene for any explanation but the world was still. She peered upwards, squinting against the early morning sun when she caught it for a moment, a flash of a wing and a –

‘Sansa!’

She was lying in her bed once more, her dress spread out around her and her hair knotted where she’d slept without taking it down. She glanced to the window, where the sun sat high in the sky above a perfectly normal world and she sighed, disappointed somehow. Had she seen the end of the world? Had she played some part in the destruction of the city? Had she really seen what she thought in the clouds? The dream faded more the harder she thought so she gave up, closed her eyes, and sank back in the furs and layers of clothing that she was encased in.

‘My lady are you well?’

Some time had passed when she woke for the second time as the sun was no longer visible from her window so, reluctantly, she pushed herself upwards and requested a warm bath to try to soak away the feeling of dread her dreams had brought her. As she waited for the water to be warmed, she slipped out of her dress and sat on her bed in her underclothes, letting her mind to wander aimlessly.

She allowed the next days to pass without much consideration. If she was going to act, she needed time to think and it was best not to plan anything too close to one attempt at the King’s life. For now, she would go about her ‘duty’, smiling innocuously and maintaining her friendship with the new Queen. The wedding had been yesterday yet celebrations continued, at least a trip hawking with Margaery was better than dining with the King as Tyrion had to endure.

‘I’ve just come from a council meeting.’ Four days after the wedding, Tyrion found her in their chambers after an afternoon tea with the Tyrells, ‘It was quite the spectacle. My brother Jaime has returned to resume his position as Commander of the Kingsguard but he seems to have misplaced his right hand which my sweet sister was most overwhelmed by. At least he has kept his other useful appendage.’

‘The kingslayer has returned…’ Sansa didn’t know how she felt about Jaime Lannister, Tyrion always had the highest praise for his brother, yet the ‘gallant’ knight had struck down her father and killed Jory. Not to mention the rumours that swirled around him and Cersei. She certainly didn’t look forward to coming across him around the Keep.

‘Yes, accompanied by a monstrously large woman who claims that she served your mother.’ He sensed the tension in her jaw and his eyes softened, ‘I assume you Jaime poses no threat to you, he would do anything for family and technically he is your good-brother.’

Sansa nodded, unconvinced.

‘But that’s not the best part. The spider has gone.’

‘Lord Varys?’ That drove her from her daydreaming. She turned to fully face him letting her hands drop from where they had been re-styling her hair.

‘Yes, he often leaves for short amounts of time, but no one has seen him since the wedding. Cersei was calling treason and seeing his head upon a spike until my father ordered her to be quiet which is always fun. She asked how they knew he was missing and not hiding somewhere in the keep – apparently she’s been hearing noises within her stone walls at night.’

‘I heard the castle is full of secret tunnels and rooms and that those who built it were executed so that they couldn’t share its secrets.’

‘And you think Varys has retreated into the walls to avoid capture? He’s free to move wherever he pleases, why wouldn’t he just walk out of the front gate? By the time anyone question why he left, he could be on the Kingsroad or a ship if he had any sense.’

Sansa fiddled with a stray strand of hair she’d be trying to tame as she listened. She almost liked the spider, despite his uncertain loyalties. Actually it was probably his uncertain loyalties that were so appealing to her. Almost everyone here bowed to the Lannisters but Varys had served many Kings and his agenda was ambiguous, who was to say he wouldn’t support her if it fit his great plan. She was almost offended that he had left without seeing her – had she not done what he’d required and avoided the death of Joffrey? Didn’t he owe her at least an explanation?

‘Has anyone looked at his chambers?’

‘His chambers? Very few have seen them or even know where they are. I’m sure someone has taken a look but I doubt the eunuch would have left anything behind.’ Tyrion ran a hand through his unkempt curls and began to pour himself a cup of wine.

‘We should go down, be certain that nothing has changed. I wasn’t down there that long ago.’ Sansa had already gathered her skirts and given up with her hair by the time Tyrion set his drink back down and dispassionately agreed.

‘Oh yes, I forgot that you were the smart one now.’ He chuckled to himself as he followed in her stead already missing the wine he had abandoned.

‘What does that mean?’ Sansa stopped in her tracks and turned back towards him. _He still thinks I’m a fool. A stupid girl who got lucky with the hairnet. _

‘Sansa… no….I….I just-‘

‘That’s alright my Lord,’ Sansa cut him off abruptly, ‘I’d hate to bore you with my fruitless follies after your long, hard day. Good night.’ She stalked off and turned a corner before he could even consider catching up with her. _Damn her long legs, _he thought to himself. With a defeated sigh he turned back to their chamber and fell into the chair beside the fireplace with a groan.

Sansa slowed down when she was a fair distance away and retraced the steps she’d taken the last time she’d found his rooms. The sun was beginning to droop above so the gardens were largely empty as she made her way along the twisted path. She wrapped her arms around her chest against the slight but noticeable chill in the air and, suddenly, she was back in Winterfell, walking the ramparts or across the yard to see her siblings.

‘Winter is coming.’ She mumbled to herself.

She passed the bench she’d stopped at before and soon found her way to the archway that led back into the keep. After a having to backtrack a few times down the twisting corridors that all looked the same, she recognised the plain doors to the small chambers she’d been led to not that long ago.

Where before Varys had sat, paying one of his little birds, the simple chair sat empty and still. Gently, although no one came this way often, Sansa closed the door behind her and made her way around the room. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for but she looked nonetheless, running her fingers along the spines of ancient volumes and fresh paperwork stored in untidy piles on top of already full cabinets. None of the papers were too interesting though; a few expense reports, details of all the attendees of the royal wedding and some correspondence between a scullery maid and her highborn lover. Most were covered by a thin layer of dust too, untouched for some time. Sansa wondered what secrets even the spider had missed in some of these less significant papers that hadn’t had been paid much attention.

After several more minutes of looking, Sansa sat down upon his chair to gather her thoughts. There was no sign anywhere of any secret passageways- although she wasn’t expecting a sign pointing them out – and everything seems near the same as the last time she’d been in here. Not that she’d even been in here long. Not that she’d paid that much attention the first time either.

Behind a door was his bedroom which was more of cell than part of the chambers of a royal councillor. Varys kept no riches, his bed was small and uncomfortable and most of his clothes, bar some of the costumes she’d found in a chest, were all similar. At least in his personal rooms the books and papers were properly organised in shelves along the wall. She scanned across the titles, recognising none, but her eye was drawn to one small book.

All of his apparent favourites were clearly well thumbed by the worn leather and marked pages yet this one, ‘Vexon’s Study of Shadowcats’ had a brand-new cover, unfaded and without any scratches. She slipped it from its place which was too big for it and felt the new leather shift in her hands. Becoming more erratic with anticipation, Sansa removed the outer layer and for a great time stared at the true book that had been hidden from others’ view.

‘The Tale of Florian the Fool and Fair Jonquil’

‘Did you find anything?’ Tyrion was hunched over some papers when Sansa returned. The crown was drowning in debt but every day the council demanded money for something else. Tyrion had tried to delve into Littlefinger’s records, but his reports told a sorry tale of the mass borrowing and promises made across Westeros that he didn’t want to consider. Every role he undertook was poisoned; he was Hand of the King during a siege and now Master of Coin after the most expensive wedding the realm had seen as well as several years of warfare. At least he was used to public hatred by now, but he dreaded to think of what the maesters would make of him in their histories.

‘Nothing of significance.’ She replied simply, taking a seat by the fire and plucking a random book from a pile. Technically, that had not been a lie. The book was nothing of significance which, in her mind, gave it more significance than anything else in his chambers. So perhaps she had lied? She wasn’t sure but she avoided his gaze nonetheless by focusing on the words ahead of her.

She remained in her seat, and Tyrion in his, until nightfall when she set aside her book and gathered herself. She strode into their bedchambers and re-emerged moments later smothered by a thick grey cloak lined with soft, warm lambswool.

‘I’m going to the Godswood.’ Sansa explained as she pulled on her boots and set out towards the door. She hadn’t been to pray for a couple of days but Tyrion didn’t seemed bothered by her behaviour and simply nodded his approval so she pushed open the door and slipped into the dark halls.

As she walked, with just the flickering of the wall sconces to guide her, Sansa felt her stomach flutter and knot in worry. She was acting a mere hunch, on an out of place book. She had considered that the spider may have just bought a copy recently but it was still a children’s book – although she had heard tales of eunuchs who never matured after their castration. She knew that Varys wasn’t one for children’s stories though, not least ones so sickly sweet as Florian and Jonquil. Anyone else may have overlooked it but it had struck as too coincidental to be just a book, just as the dress was not just a dress.

She was still debating whether she was the fool after all when she reached the Godswood.

As always, at this hour, it was deserted, so she took a seat on the cold stone bench and waited. _While I’m here I might as well pray, _she told herself so, staring into the enveloping branches of the heart tree, she made her prayers, beseeching the old Gods to send her salvation and rescue her from her endless imprisonment in Kings Landing. She prayed for Arya, dead or alive, and even for her bastard brother Jon, wherever he may be. _You’re all I have left._

As she had prayed, a crone in a simple shawl had taken a seat next to her and closed her eyes in prayer. This Godswood got few visitors but there were still some north-men and women in the city so she wasn’t always alone. But any north-woman would know to dress warmly at night, even in Kings Landing.

‘Good evening. I don’t believe we’ve met before.’ Sansa turned to get a better look and, closer, she found the features more familiar under the spells that must have been used to create such an elaborate disguise. ‘Or maybe we have.’

‘Lady Stark, you have found me!’ His voice was high and petulant, as if he was delivering Cersei titillating information and not a wanted man hiding as woman in plain sight. ‘We have much to discuss.’

‘Why are you still here? You know the entire guard is searching for you.’

‘I had loose ends.’ He looked glum for a moment, but the smile returned to his face quickly. ‘I’m sure you have many questions my Lady, but we don’t have much time. This place may have been safe for your meetings with a drunk knight but they have doubled the patrol since the wedding. We have time for one question though I’m sure.’

_One question, _Sansa thought, _are you still playing a game with me, Spider? Are you trying to make me think? No guards come down here, so what it is you want me to say? _

She considered it all for a moment. She thought of the hairnet, of the dress, of the plot and of Varys’ departure from court but it all swirled together. Everything was linked but what question would unravel the web he had woven. If this was his doing at all.

‘Who do you serve? You have served several kings now yet when made aware of a plot to kill a member of the royal family you don’t tell them but give their enemy a dress to indirectly stop the assassination. Then afterwards you disappear like a criminal when you are completely above suspicion.’

‘I serve the _realm_, Sansa,’ he giggled to himself, ‘Though that was a very good question. Serving the King of Westeros comes hand in hand with serving the realm mostly yet sometimes it has needs beyond the royal family and sometimes the one who sits in the throne cannot serve the realm as is needed so I’m going elsewhere, to someone who can.’

‘But why not let Joffrey die then? You had a chance to rid the _realm _of a great evil.’ Sansa kept her voiced hushed as, in the silence, every sound carried across the gardens.

‘Ah…unfortunately we have no more time for questions but answer some questions of mine and I might gift you more time.’

Sansa was already sick of his sweet smell and sweeter smile and hide his true intentions. Varys was a smart man, everyone knew this, but he played a fool most of the time but there was always something in his eye that told you to listen carefully to his words. It was tiring to try to play games with him and riddle her way through his words, but she nodded and he continued.

‘Why would I not want to kill the King?’

‘That’s what I asked you!’ she took a moment to calm herself before her voice rose and alerted someone nearby.

‘Something smaller then. Who is the greatest threat to the realm?’

‘Lannisters.’ She didn’t need to think for that one.

‘And why is that?’

‘Their actions are the root of all the war of the last few years. All the blood is one their hands.’

He giggled at that too, Sansa’s face hardened.

‘It could be argued that you’re biased but I believe you are not far from the truth. Which Lannisters though? Pious Lancel? Tiring Ser Kevan?’

‘Cersei and Tywin.’

‘And who would succeed the throne if Joffrey were to sadly perish?’ Varys leant in closer to her and Sansa knew he was getting somewhere but she still couldn’t figure out where and she was growing tired of his patronising guessing game.

‘Tommen.’

‘And why would I not want little Tommen on the throne?’

What harm could Tommen cause? The small boy, round of face and accustomed to living behind his mother’s skirts and in his brother’s shadow. Out of the Lannister brood, Sansa had found little, except his blood, that was wrong with the boy. He had the Lannister hair yes, but he was timid and kind. Sansa could picture him now, playing with the cats he adored so much – why would anyone chose Joffrey over him?

In a second, she was back on the steps that led to the Great Sept. She looked down upon herself, at her fine clothes and frowned. Her father was drawn through the crowds who cursed him and pelted him with rotten food and other, heavier items. One struck him in the head and she felt herself lurch forward uneasily but she held herself and kept smiling. Joff, her Joff, had promised he’d show mercy so she had nothing to worry about. Then came the shouting of the Queen, Ilyn Payne strutting forward, the rising raucous of the crowds and she lost her footing as her head spun franticly and strangled cries escaped her throat.

How could anyone let that monster live?

But there was her answer, amidst the chaos that day, she saw her answer pleading with her son as he grinned wildly at his people. That’s what Joffrey was, wild and untameable. Now that he was married and almost of age, why would he let his mother dictate his decisions, or his grandfather, when he had ignored her council then, just days into his reign.

‘Tommen in young and kind, in time he could be a great king but for now… for now Cersei and Tywin would rule as the Lord Hand and Queen regent. Joffrey is rash and cruel, but his cruelty only extends so far – Cersei and Tywin could destroy Westeros.’

Varys smiled and made a strange, gleeful sound, ‘and that is why I had to protect Joffrey. Now that is done, I can seek out the one who can serve this realm the right way.’

‘Who?’

‘Sansa we have little time,’ Varys ignored her question but instead drew a letter from his shawl with her name written in a fine script on the top, pressed with Varys’ seal. ‘Give this to the council when they ask you for it. This one is just for you.’ He handed her a smaller second letter, unsealed which she opened then and began to read.

_Sansa, _

_I am travelling across the Narrow sea on the morrow so this will be our only correspondence, there will be no way to write to me when I am gone so read this letter carefully. During my years in Westeros, I have built up a sizable network of ‘little birds’ and I fear I am sending them back into poverty by leaving them so I must hand them to someone I trust. You are young, but so was I when I came to this land, and you have much to learn but I give my informers to you with the hope they will help you deal with the greatest threat to the realm. Enclosed is a document detailing how the little birds tend to function and another mapping some of the secret passageways that I have discovered. Perhaps you will find some more. _

_Use these gifts well and they will serve you diligently,_

_Varys_

‘I…W…why?’

The Godswood was silent and when Sansa looked up, she realised that she was alone, the papers in her hand the only proof that she hadn’t imagined the whole conversation. She turned her head towards the heart-tree and muttered a thank you for sending her some help. She rose from the bench, smoothed down her skirts and swept back towards the keep, with more questions than when she’d left.


	3. The Master of Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa must face the reality of her new-found power and begins to understand that she is not as alone as she expected.

‘My Lord, my L-L-Lady. The Q-Queen has summoned you both to the council chambers.’ Podrick Payne stood at the door, slightly out of breath and clutching a scrunched-up piece of paper. Sansa never quite understood why the boy was a squire. He was the right age, yes, and from a branch of a House Payne but Tyrion was no knight and all Pod seemed to do was relay messages and sweat.

‘The Queen Regent,’ Tyrion corrected with a smirk, ‘Let’s not give my sister any more titles that she doesn’t deserve.’

‘Me too?’ Sansa’s voice quivered as she shot Tyrion a concerned look. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be summoned to a last-minute council meeting, but she’d never been called to one before and after her last ‘meeting’ with Cersei…

‘You didn’t think my sweet sister would just _let _you keep an army of informants under her roof?’ He put the papers he’d been looking over in order and pushed himself from his chair, making his way to her and extending a hand, ‘She probably won’t kill you though.’

After her encounter with Lord Varys, Sansa had gone straight to bed and stared up at the canopy for hours until Tyrion climbed in next to her and she had to pretend to be asleep. She had no idea where to begin with her newly acquired ‘little birds’ but she knew the Spider was expecting something from her. She decided that night that it was impossible to do this alone so the next morning, reluctantly, she let Tyrion read the letter. He was just as stumped as she was but she had to admit it felt better to have some support, especially from someone who’d worked with Varys before.

Their walk to the small council chambers was quiet, Sansa tried to think of excuses whilst Tyrion could only imagine the tortures Cersei would have planned for his wife. Everyone knew she was waiting eagerly for the Stark girl to make a mistake, perhaps this was it.

Ser Bronn caught up with them, grinning as always, ‘you two look like you’re t’have hot pokers up your arses.’

‘You’re still here?’ Tyrion replied bitterly. Bronn had been his man ever since he’d found him on the way to the Eyrie. The sellsword had defended him then, and Tyrion grew fond of the bawdy, bloodthirsty man with eyes only for women and coin. Now he was knighted and off to wed the dim-witted Lollys. He’d relied on Bronn but who would defend him now? Pod? _He hasn’t even thanked me, _Tyrion thought to himself, _I owe him money, probably. _

‘I’m off tomorrow, as it happens.’ He walked backwards in front of them, jauntily, a nice life set up for him. By who? Tyrion expected Bronn would soon forget who he owed his happiness too once he left Kings Landing.

‘Well, I hope you don’t drown.’ Tyrion glanced up before taking Sansa’s arm and abruptly turning them down a corridor, leaving Bronn behind and the council rooms just up ahead.

Sansa hadn’t been concentrating on where they’d been going so the sudden turn brought her back to her senses. The feeling of dread soon returned though, as she found herself staring up at the doors of the small council once again. She’d been nervous before, when they’d brought the hairnet to Cersei, but that was just twists in her stomach; now she was sure she would retch at any given moment. Then, they had control but now she had no clue what Cersei would present, what evidence she would dredge up to prove her treasonous nature. Would Joffrey be there?

When the door was heaved open, all chatter from inside died instantly as all eyes fell upon the two of them. Oberyn Martell sat with his ornate dagger, fiddling with the point whilst Mace Tyrell cast him dark looks from the other side of the table. Maester Pycelle was there too, his beard never looking worse and Jaime Lannister stood at the end of the table in his glistening white enamel armour and silk cloak. The head of the table was occupied by Cersei (not the hand as Sansa expected) leaning across the table with a spark in her eye that made Sansa’s hair rise on end. Gracefully, she rose and, grinning widely, she opened her arms to the newcomers and the rest of the council looked away slowly, sorrowfully.

‘You.’

‘Y-your Grace?’

‘So now you address me properly? You should be kissing my feet you stupid traitorous whore!’

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ Tyrion tried to interject but Cersei paid no mind to him and swept over towards them, every word dripping with malice.

‘You come into my service, are betrothed to the King, you are excused for your treasonous blood and married into the royal household and you repay us with defiance? With more treason? It runs in their family when will you all see?’ She turned to the rest of the council who tried to avoid her eyes. When Cersei’s back was turned, Oberyn shot Sansa a sympathetic look but no one else dared to stop the Queen as she drew even closer. ‘What are you and the spider planning? For him to leave and arrange passage so you could murder us all in our beds and escape? For you to get information on us and sell it to Stannis? Or do you want the crown yourself you little slut?’

‘Your Grace, if you will let her expl-’ Tyrion took a step forward.

‘So that she can use her charms in here as well? Convince them she’s nothing but a sweet, innocent Northern girl enslaved here?’ Cersei interrupted, ‘And how is anyone to know you aren’t involved in this coup _little _brother? That is for another time though, I have the proof of her guilt here and she will pay the price for this I swear.’ She held a piece of paper of neat handwriting that Sansa could only guess was from one of the Queen’s informants. As the letter was passed around the council table, Sansa opened her mouth to explain herself or perhaps to start weeping but she couldn’t even manage that. Cersei wanted her head and with that simple piece of paper, she had it.

‘This is quite damning, my Lady.’ Maester Pycelle warned. Sansa expected him to say something else but he passed the paper along and wrapped his hands back inside his sleeves.

Mace Tyrell shook his head and sighed as he read the letter, mumbling something about his daughter, and slid the letter to Prince Oberyn who sat back in his chair and refused to read it. _One council member’s support was nice but not enough to save me_, Sansa thought to herself, _they mean to execute me, why won’t I cry?_

‘The whore can’t even defend herself!’ Cersei cried after some time, ‘your father was the same, you remember, too honest and noble to even tell a lie that would have saved his life.’

Sansa jumped as the door was opened behind her, expecting to be seized and sent to rot in the black cells but instead Cersei shrunk back and the council came to sudden attention.

‘Lady Stark? It is good to see you.’ Tywin Lannister made his way to the seat Cersei had previously taken and looked over the scene before him, ‘are you alright?’

Sansa was taken aback. He had looked at the letter as he walked towards his chair but paid no mind to it – _he already knows _Sansa realised, _but why does he seem so relaxed? _And he’d called her Lady Stark not Lady Sansa as she had been all her life. Technically, after the death of her mother and brothers, she was the sole Lady of her house, but no one dared recognise her position of power in Kings Landing; Lord Bolton was Warden of the North now.

‘The Queen Regent has been grilling the girl.’ Oberyn Martell spoke up after Sansa didn’t dare answer the question.

‘She’s a traitor.’ Cersei spat bitterly.

‘That is not for you to decide, daughter!’ Tywin stood, his palms flat against the table, ‘must I remind you who is the King’s hand? You have no right examining the girl like this. What proof is there of treason?’

‘She had taken possession of Varys’ informants, she didn’t deny it.’ Cersei responded, agitated.

Tywin cooled and sat back in his seat, ‘and where did _you_ get this information? Should you be arrested for treason too? She hasn’t _done_ anything with these little birds, has she?’

Cersei remained silent.

‘No. And did you ever think that as Varys had his uses so could she?’

‘I have a letter.’ Sansa finally found her words and, from her sleeves, produced the letter Varys had given her to give to the council. She thanked the gods that she’d remembered to grab it before they’d left. She made her way past Cersei and handed it directly to Tywin who kept his sharp eyes on here as he used a nail to break the seal and only looked away to glance at the letter.

‘Lord Varys has indeed selected Lady Stark to look after his informants after his departure. He chose her for her distance from the council, only someone who does not benefit from their position here can truly scrutinise our work. Despite his… disappearance, I agree with the Spider. Unless there is proof of treasonous behaviour, she will be able to keep these ‘little birds’ just as everyone else is entitled to have their own spies within these walls.’ He shot a look at Cersei then turned back to Sansa and nodded.

‘So, we are going to simply _wait _for her to betray us all? Wait to be slaughtered in our sleep. You may be King’s Hand father, but I will go to the King himself, he will never let her get away with this.’

‘Actually, the King has decided to honour Lady Stark tomorrow. She has given us nothing but good service and stopped the real traitors just days ago, unless you have forgotten already?’

‘Honour her?’ Cersei’s voice rose further still, and her eyes grew wilder, ‘she should be glad that she’s not dead, not honoured! What in the seven hells will you give her?’

‘Hamdel?’ At Lord Tywin’s command, an old man, hunching over a walking stick was admitted into the small council. He hobbled towards the empty space and, with bleary eyes, looked up towards the Lord Hand and the rage of the Queen reluctantly. ‘Tell the council exactly what you have told me.’

‘There is precedent, Your Grace, my lords, my lady, for a woman to sit upon the council. A few have sat when their Lord Husbands have been unable to but Lady Emelie held the title of Master of Ships. She was raised on a great galley and proved a valuable councillor for twenty years. Age is a little more…’

‘You want to put her on the council?’ Cersei rose from her seat, pointing a slender finger violently towards Sansa who could not move, let alone speak or even understand exactly what was going on.

‘Let the man finish, he is an expert in royal histories.’ Tywin’s voice replied, barely noticing her uproar.

‘Thank you, my Lord, very well. The youngest member of the small council was ten and six years of age, how old are you, my dear?’

Sansa realised the question was for her, so she cleared her throat and spoke up, ‘Almost ten and four.’

‘Well then… I… it is…’ Hamdel seemed unsure what he was supposed to say next, and instead brought out a great tome he had carried in under his arm and began flicking through pages.

‘In Dorne she would be a woman then. Old enough to run a household, old enough to learn to fight, old enough to love, old enough to have respect.’ Oberyn started with a smile in her direction, ‘and if she is old enough to have joined your family… she is old enough to have a role, with us.’

‘T-they do say it is better to keep those you don’t trust closest, your Grace.’ Maester Pycelle stumbled as Mace Tyrell remained silent and frowning.

‘It is settled, the King has given his assent and if none of you have any serious concerns?’ Tywin looked expectantly at his daughter, but Cersei was quiet and satisfied. He returned to meet Sansa’s eyes. ‘It shall be made official in Court tomorrow, until then, you may leave us.’

Sansa bowed and left the room, her mind completely blank and her heart still thumping erratically in her chest. Just minutes ago, she’d been sure that she wouldn’t last the week now…now she would sit on the King’s council and report to them all the tall tales her informants fed to her. It was unsettling that once more she would be serving the family who had been the cause of all her suffering. It was wrong and she knew her father would never work alongside such evil yet when she looked in the mirror, she always saw her mother’s eyes and she knew what Catelyn Stark would do. The game of thrones was beginning to unravel before her, and it seemed she wasn’t the only player on her team.

_The Martells must hate the Lannisters as much as I do, yet Oberyn sits on their council and speaks nicely to them every day. _She’d heard Tyrion complain enough times to understand the extent of the venomous abhorrence boiling within the Red Viper. He was playing the same game as her. _That doesn’t mean he’s on my side, but we share an enemy – that is enough. _

The next morning, Sansa picked a gown she had yet to wear for court. Before her marriage to Tyrion, Cersei had arranged for an entire new wardrobe for her and she had worn most of it. One dress, however, she had kept away from. At her age, her body was largely developed, and the dress chosen for her made no effort to disguise the curves of her hips and waist of the growth of her chest. If she accepted her new title dressed like a child, the people would consider it an elaborate joke but if she wished to have power, true power within Kings Landing, she needed to be taken seriously. She panted and puffed as the corset was laced up and the gown was fitted on top of it but, with a touch of makeup and a fitting hairstyle, she was impressed with what she saw in the mirror. She was not the only one, either.

‘My L-Gods.’ Tyrion entered to escort her to the throne room but lost track of himself when his eyes fell upon his wife. _Young wife, _he cautioned, or else he wouldn’t have been able to control himself.

She blushed and tried to cover her embarrassment by laughing at his longing gaze. After examining herself in the mirror once more, she gratefully took his arm and, glad that he could still walk, let him lead her to the throne room. She was almost growing bored of these strange walks that took up most of her time with Tyrion. Every time he had to escort her somewhere, she was always struck with dread or nerves so little passed between them. Now as they walked, however, eyes fell upon them, whispers were exchanged and Sansa was filled with anticipation instead of fear.

They spoke as well, mostly niceties and queries about each-other’s day. Tyrion even managed to spit out a compliment and asked if the dress was new, as if he would have missed it if she’d worn it before. He filled her in on Cersei’s persistent sulking following Sansa’s departure and the near joy on Prince Oberyn’s face every time Tywin told his daughter to be mature. Sansa could not help but find satisfaction herself in infuriating the Queen Regent, yet it only meant she had to perform well in the coming weeks or else Cersei would use her usefulness to her own advantage. _I must make myself irreplaceable, _she considered as she walked, _let’s hope I receive some interesting information soon. _

The doors of the throne room had been thrown open as members of the court filed in, chatting incessantly. From the corner of her eye, Sansa spotted a small girl slipping amongst skirts, invisible as air itself. She hoped that that bird would pick up some valuable gossip in her efforts.

Largely, unaccompanied women of the court were excluded to the halls above the chamber, to watch but never intervene or let their emotion get in the way of important proceedings. As Tyrion left her to stand with the other council members, however, Sansa remained on the floor, near the front of the throng. A few insignificant nobles gawked at her as they tried to push themselves to the front. Instinctively, Sansa moved to let them pass yet before they could move in front of her, she remembered herself and planted herself firmly in her position, stretching her neck up and keeping her eyes devoutly on the Iron Throne ahead.

As the hall became more tightly packed, she was aware of more talk around her. Two young men complained that the Master of Arms was too strict with their swordplay, Lord Gyles coughed into his handkerchief, an elderly woman spoke to a handmaid of the tales she had brought to court today- none worthy of any interest- and Sansa spotted three more of her informants dancing through the crowds, unnoticed.

Finally, the great doors were closed and the talk faded to silence as Joff entered from the chambers behind the throne and took his place upon it. Beside him on one side stood Lord Tywin and Cersei occupied the other. With Lord Jaime in the white guarding the King against the crowds and Tyrion at his position with the council, Sansa felt a sudden wave of doubt that she’d ever have the force to knock the Lannisters from their pedestal- surely not even the Targaryens were so embedded in their own royal entourage?

Tywin spoke first, filling in the court on some measure put in place to replace the ships and businesses destroyed during the Battle of the Blackwater- none of which was enough, judging by the grumbling of his audience. He also announced that Queen Margarey would be visiting these areas of destruction to give alms to the poor. Sansa hadn’t even noticed the Queen and other Tyrells standing on the opposite side to the council table. Little Tommen also stood with them, shifting from leg to leg from standing in one place for two long. At the mention of her good deeds, Margarey smiled warmly to the court, and shot her new husband a fond look that set them off tittering again.

‘Be quiet!’ It was Joffrey now who addressed the court, his voice straining as he tried to pull attention back to himself once more. ‘I have grave news for you all.’ Although he painted a severe face on, he couldn’t hide the glee in his voice at his bad news, as if he thrived off everything negative to exist.

‘Once more, there are traitors in our midst and, at my very own wedding day, one attempted, poorly of course, to poison me and my new Queen. I offer great gold and titles to anyone who can bring information of these traitors or better still – their heads!’

Gasps filled the hall which only widened the King’s grin, as he spoke next however, his excitement faded and his voice became almost bored. ‘My grandfather tells me that such a cowardly plot was thwarted by my good-aunt’ he paused for a moment before he spitted out dispassionately, ‘Sansa Stark.’

Eyes fell upon her as she picked up her feet and made her way before the throne. She dipped herself respectively then chanced a glance upwards and met his cruel eye.

‘Kneel, my lady. For saving your King’s life, you have displayed your honour and loyalty that other members of your family forgot. For this I have decided to reward you with an esteemed position on my council as my new Master of Whispers. Rise.’

As she stood, calls came out from behind her of ‘Lady Stark’, ‘Lady Sansa’ and, catching her off-guard, ‘winter is coming’. She looked amongst the crowd to locate the speaker, but the guards had the same idea, so she turned back quickly in case she accidentally incriminated her supporter. Joffrey seemed nonplussed and only nodded briefly at her as she took a seat beside Tyrion with the other councillors.

For the rest of the morning Sansa listened intently to the issues brought before the King, making notes on where to send her little birds for information next, watching her fellow council members too. Maester Pycelle, despite appearing half-asleep, was paying ardent attention of proceedings whilst Mace Tyrell and Oberyn Martell shared, for once, boredom and both seemed glad to stand and stretch when it was finished. 

On their way out, Sansa stopped Oberyn and pulled him aside when the room was clear.

‘How do you do it? How do you sit amongst all the people you hate and not bat an eyelid?’ The question had been on her mind ever since the meeting yesterday and it had only pressed her more when she’d seen the ease with which the Prince took his council seat and sat with his greatest enemies.

‘How do you?’ He responded, matching her hushed tone.

‘I will not make the same mistakes my father did.’ The truth was she had kept her cool during her short meetings with various Lannisters but her new position would place her in close company with them, all of them, and she wasn’t yet sure whether she would be able to be civil with the people who killed her family.

‘He tried to face the great Lioness himself, no? That one requires something subtler, something more like her.’

Sansa raised her eyebrow. Yes, they were speaking quietly and the room was empty but they still were standing on the stairs before the iron throne and something about even thinking about removing Cersei so openly didn’t sit well with Sansa. He chuckled at her apprehensiveness and unleashed a venomous smile.

‘You cannot face the lions head on, but you cannot ignore them either. The Kingslayer learnt that lesson the hard way with the Dragon-king and it cost my sister and her children’s’ lives.’ With that, he turned and departed, leaving Sansa alone in the throne room, the sudden chill biting against her exposed skin.

She glanced up at the Iron Throne, at the barbed swords and the sleek blades protruding from the back, like a crown of death and destruction for whoever sat upon it. Some part of her induced her to walk towards it, run her hand along the metalwork and take a seat in that great chair forged by dragon flame. But then she recalled the fires she had seen in her dream and the distant but undeniable wing in the distance and she decided against it, turning in the other direction and leaving it behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been a bit slow in updating, I started University last week so life's been a bit hectic for me.


	4. The Promised Shield

Sansa was sealing a letter when a knock at her door broke her peace. Without looking, she ordered them to enter and only turned to greet her visitor.

Jaime Lannister stood in all of his white enamel glory, his cloak laying about his shoulders in a way that Sansa couldn’t quite explain but that she never saw in any of the other Kingsguard. He was a sight to behold, as he had been when he’d first entered Winterfell; the Queen’s perfect twin, blonde and shining yet tainted by the royal blood he’d spilled. Now she inspected him further, however, he looked significantly older than when he’d arrived in the North, his face shadowed by a slight beard, the colour in his hair fading and the obvious lack of his right hand.

‘Ser Jaime? Tyrion is disposed at this moment, I can take a message to him, but he will be back in the evening.’ In truth, Sansa had been half-expecting a visit from her good-brother ever since her husband had described his return, accompanied by ‘a monstrously large woman’ who claims that she served her mother. She’d been eager to meet this Brienne of Tarth who had been secluded to a tower cell, as her little birds had informed her, but she was waiting to see if Ser Jaime would allow such a visit or if she’d have to find her way to her herself. That would prove problematic, she had found, as the cell was well-guarded, and all the disguises left by Varys were much too large for her.

‘I do not seek my brother, there is someone I believe you must meet.’ Jaime seemed uncomfortable, as if that great cloak did not sit as well upon his shoulders as it appeared.

‘The Lady Brienne of Tarth?’ Sansa smiled sweetly, ‘is it safe to allow the sworn sword of a Stark to meet with the last of the same family- the family that was in full rebellion to the crown months ago?’

Jaime cringed but his face didn’t change, ‘I have a duty, Lady Stark, and contrary to what I have heard, I don’t have shit for honour’

Sansa wasn’t sure what that meant but she saw something that resembled sympathy in his expression. She nodded and left with him, leaving her letters for later.

The Lady Brienne sat, looking out of the small window of her tower cell. Across her knee lay her sword that she cleaned with an oil cloth methodically. Even turned away from the door, Sansa could judge her size and strength by the broadness of her back and thickness of neck. She still sat like a Lady, she realised however, having likely faced the years of training as Sansa had done herself.

Jaime coughed to get her intention, although she must’ve heard the door open, but she remained stoic and fixated on the view outside and the weapon in her hand. He shook his head at her petty insolence and mumbled something about her being a ‘stupid wench’ then stepped back to allow Sansa to take the forefront.

‘Lady Brienne?’

Brienne was clearly caught off-guard by the female voice as she sheathed her sword noisily and turned around. Her front of her short hair fell about her face in a manner that made Jaime chuckle to himself but Sansa did not understand the joke so only smiled politely.

‘My name is-‘

‘Sansa Stark! My Lady!’ At her realisation Brienne dropped to the floor upon her knees, a great smile breaking across her wide face, ‘I have come all the way from the Riverlands to find you. Your mother she… I-I am so sorry for your losses.’

‘As am I for yours, rise my Lady.’ Brienne had not lost near as much as she had yet she’d heard of the closeness between her and Lord Renly then of course she’d been unable to defend Lady Catelyn.

Brienne remained on her knees but her happiness slipped away as something occurred to her, ‘I am sorry I have been unable to fulfil the oath I made to your mother to bring you home. It took too long to get here and you were married away before I could help.’ She seemed generally disappointed in herself, which struck Sansa deeply. Brienne held no stake in the war and would benefit little from protecting her yet grieved hard for the oath she believed she couldn’t complete.

‘Tell me how you knew my mother.’

Brienne told the story that Sansa had heard clippings of; of the melee at Bitterbridge, of the parlay between the Baratheon brothers, the death of Renly, swearing her sword to her mother and helping free Jaime Lannister. Then followed the parts that remained a mystery to most of Westeros, of the great journey south and of how Jaime Lannister had lost his hand and, as Sansa discovered, a fight with a bear. As she told her story, Sansa decided that her mother had made the right decision in trusting the great woman, even with the strange way her eyes turned whenever she mentioned Ser Jaime. Only then did Sansa remember his presence however, when she looked, he had slipped away.

‘You may still be able to fulfil that oath, my Lady, if that’s what you want?’ Sansa kept her voice low enough, recalling the guards, and likely Jaime, waiting outside for her. ‘I have some form of a plan in motion which will get me out of here one day, but I can’t do it alone.’

‘You don’t need to ask, Lady Stark. I have spent enough time with these Lannisters and their allies to know they are poor company to keep. I came here to protect you, for your Lady mother, and I will do that until you order me to stop.’ Abruptly, Brienne unsheathed her sword and laid it at Sansa’s feet, bowing her head respectfully.

‘I-your offering me your sword?’

‘To be your sworn-sword as I was to your mother… if you’ll accept of course.’

Sansa could only nod her acceptance as her words had failed her. Somehow, she’d imagined that the only people who would ever lay their swords at her feet would be gallant knights desperate to save her from her cruel fate. They’d say their words with a wink and whisk her away to Winterfell. Such dreams had faded long ago but to have a true ally in Kings Landing, and not just the ambiguity of Oberyn Martell, filled her with something that reminded her of hope and she hadn’t felt that in a long time.

‘I offer my services Lady Sansa Stark. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.’

‘And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise.’ She’d learnt the words back when she’d been sure her fantasies would come for her and as she began, they fell off her tongue easily. Something told her this would not be the last time.

Jaime walked her back in silence, but she couldn’t help cast a curious eye over the new Lord Commander. She couldn’t imagine what his sister would say to him taking her to the one person in the keep that would serve her. Perhaps Tyrion’s blind faith in his brother had some sense to it – he still couldn’t be trusted yet wasn’t half as deadly to her as the other Lannisters. She was still trying to comprehend her freshly forged alliance with Lady Brienne so she didn’t question his kindness; now was not the time.

When she returned to her chambers, the guard on the door nodded and Jaime left her side without a word. Once inside, she remembered her letters left lying on the desk and made a move to grab them and send them in the right directions but before her fingers could settle on the paper, something flashed in front of her hand and slammed into the table.

Her whole body shot backwards and she was afraid she might topple over but the intruder reached out his palm and kept her upright by the small of her back. 

‘I didn’t mean to startle you, my Lady.’ Oberyn Martell purred, his voice was thicker than treacle, as he moved, the air filled with the scent of incense as if he were burning it somewhere in his cloak.

Sansa staggered away and searched the room. They were completely alone and the guard outside seemed unaware that anyone had come to pay her visit. ‘What brings you here, your highness?’ Sansa remained as courteous as she could, trying best not to focus on the knife between them.

‘I have paid your husband many visits, it would be rude of me not to pay the same homage to his beautiful wife, not to mention a member of the council too.’

Sansa had heard plenty about the visits he’d paid Tyrion, his demands for justice, his veiled threats. Yet they were threats to his family, not to hers. As far as Sansa could recall, there was little cause for conflict between the Starks and the Martells and Oberyn had already shown her favour in the council meetings. ‘I can’t offer you much more than my lord husband can, I’m afraid. Trust that I share your disdain for creatures such as the Cleganes.’ That wasn’t wholly true. The Mountain was a vile monolith that deserve a long, drawn-out death at the hands of someone like Oberyn, but the Hound had never explicitly harmed her. He’d stopped her from pushing the King off a parapet, which likely saved her life in the long-run and was one of the only Kingsguard to have a conversation with her. She’d sang to him when he left. She wondered if he still lived or if he had fallen into the same fate as Arya, lost to the world.

‘That is good to know. It is not your services that I seek, however.’ He fell upon an ottoman and extended himself across it. ‘We have a common enemy within these halls. It is not difficult to see we can work something out that would be mutually beneficial. Unless your plan is to remain a caged bird, forever?’

‘What would you have me do?’ Such an alliance was dangerous, Sansa knew from the outset. Whilst keeping friends close at hand was necessary, the ‘Red Viper’ of Dorne was not one to hide his bloodthirsty habits. She wanted revenge but it could never be on par with what he had been chasing half his life.

‘That would be up to you. So far I am relying on these lions to give me the head of their own man. It is unlikely that will ever happen but, as your husband reminds me, there is little else besides pursuing him myself that I can do. I believe you have a better chance of making an impact though, Lady Stark, and I am at your service when you find your means.’

There was something in his eye Sansa couldn’t escape- heart-breaking disappointment that he was so far from the conclusion he had so long dreamt of. He had grown so desperate for his revenge that he even placed his faith in her, a child, to get him closer. She couldn’t help but feel she would disappoint him; ever since she’d acquired Vary’s agents she’d thought hard about how they could be used to weakened the Lannister’s stronghold over Westeros or at least the Keep. Nothing seemed feasible, though, their power was as well entrenched in the Kingdom as was the gold in their mines – although if what Tyrion had heard was true…

‘I accept.’

‘Many thanks, my Lady.’

‘And I make a promise to you. If you do find yourself in my service know that I will do everything within my power to make the Lannisters pay for what they have done to your family. For Elia.’

‘For Elia.’ He repeated with a sad smile. He rose, bowed his head and made his leave.

Alone, Sansa tried to contemplate what the day had already given her. In under an hour she had been granted a sworn sword and the support of a Dornish Prince. Both were limited, however. If Ser Loras didn’t believe that Lady Brienne was innocent, even Ser Jaime wouldn’t be able to save her from condemnation. Equally, if she couldn’t think up a brilliant scheme for overturning the Lannisters, she’d never earn support from the Dornish. Her head ached with the possibilities and the risk that she had taken by accepting what she had been offered. If Cersei found out? It was probably best not to consider that. 

That night, she stared into the flamse of the fire until they faded into embers. Before they died, however, a bundle of fresh kindling was tossed in and Sansa came to life to find Tyrion beside her.

‘Has my company driven you to the flames, Sansa? Should I expect to wake up singed?’

‘Someone told me Red Priestesses see things in flames, see bits of the future.’ Sansa didn’t know why she’d told him that – it was a stupid idea.

‘Did you see anything? You may not be a Red Priestess but in this light you’re almost there.’ He chuckled to himself as he took his place in the other armchair. Sansa looked down at herself, her dress was a light peach yet in the orange glow of the fireplace her gown and hair had become one.

‘Nothing.’

‘Ah.’

In the silence that followed, he picked up a book left on a table and flicked through it to a page on crime and punishment but her expression, or lack thereof, was unsettling him. Gently, he set it back down and reached towards her, placing his hand on top of hers. It wasn’t just her hair, or indeed dress, that was on fire, her hand was warm to the touch, like the fire was burning inside of her, not in the hearth. He half expected her to pull away, or at least flinch, but instead a small smile played on her lips and she continued to stare into the dancing fingers of the flames like they were the greatest entertainers she’d ever seen.

His hand was cold on top of hers. Cold from coming in from outside. She missed the cold, the real cold, but the memories of Winterfell did not sting her this time; they were comforting. Wherever she was in that moment, she was on a path that would lead her home, back to the cold, back to her family, back to herself. She allowed herself to smile and relaxed into the chair, thanking the Gods for his cold hands.

As she watched the fire this time, the flames shifted before her and she had to blink to check she wasn’t imagining what she could see. She watched Winterfell, tall and proud, burn to the ground. She saw Kings Landing enveloped by flames. She watched a great flying beast fall onto frozen ground. She saw hundreds of men marching together carrying the banners from across Westeros – the sun of Dorne, the rose of Highgarden, the fish of the Tullys and at the front, high above the others, a great grey direwolf. She wanted to see their faces, but as soon as the images appeared, the fire shifted, and it was gone. Until the fire burned down, she watched, waiting for anything more but, this time, when the flames died, they remained that way and she lit a candle instead.

The look in her eyes wasn’t like anything Tyrion had seen before. He’d seen rage in his sister, power in his father, and anguish in his brother yet nothing compared to the penetrating gaze Sansa Stark fixed on the hearth. In that moment, he wasn’t sure whether he ought to be scared for her, or of her. He went to lift his hand from hers when the fire died down to get another candle but she enclosed it between both hands and turned her eyes to him. In the soft light, the blue of her eyes was grey and the red in her hair was brown and there was no doubt that she was Ned Stark’s daughter.


	5. The Words of the Father

Sansa buried herself in her work. 

Every council meeting required fresh information, otherwise the queen would declare her pointless and demand she be removed. There were only so many times someone else could defend her. She brought news of Lord Stannis, of the sparrows that had flocked to the capital, of the slave revolts in the East and of the brotherhood without banners that continued to traipse across the Riverlands, evading any attempted capture. Their new figurehead, Lady Stoneheart, was especially captivating for Cersei. Sansa wondered in somewhere deep in the Queen’s subconscious, she longed for the life this new rogue led, powerful but unrestrained. 

As she fell deeper into the hold of information , Sansa felt her hopes of escape slipping away from her . Since her meetings with Brienne and  Oberyn , she hadn’t gotten any closer  in making any plans of action. Her few moments of respite were when she finally fell into bed at the end of the day and sleep took her so quickly these days,  she barely had time to think. 

When Margaery Tyrell invited her on a trip into the city  with her, Sansa  politely decline, though her heart ached to spend time with the new Queen and her ladies.  Margaery insisted and before long Sansa found herself dressing for going out and  filling a small purse with coins. 

‘You won’t regret it Sansa.’ Margaery said as they walked together towards the carriages, ‘the city has taken on such a lovely glow in this new year. Do you remember your last winter? Or even autumn? Spring in Highgarden is the most pleasant but there is something so delightful about the crisp mornings and pretty leaves.’ 

She went on like this until they  found the wheelhouse set aside for them. Some of Margaery’s ladies had already  found their seats inside but she told them to sit in the other one so that she and Sansa could talk alone.  When the door closed behind them, Margaery reached forward and placed her hands upon Sansa’s , her eyes wide and comforting.

‘Are you okay?  I’ve hardly seen you in weeks. They say you sit in the council now . That must be terribly boring.’ She spun her words in a way that put Sansa at  ease but she had to remind herself that even her closest friend probably couldn’t be trusted. 

‘I’m fine, your Grace.’ Sansa  smiled, looking out of the window as they lurched and began the descent into the city.

‘ You can tell me if anything is wrong, you know? It seems that you’re younger than  me yet you are always busier than me. All I do is tend to the hens all day  whilst you collect secrets for my husband. I must admit, I’m a little jealous.’  Margaery smirked.

‘Well you are the  Queen; it wouldn’t be right to have you working all day.’ 

‘No, I suppose not. Especially since… oh look at those leaves!’ 

Sansa looked out of the window but there were no trees around. Instead, a lone rider passed them  bearing no  sigils . When he was passed, Margaery swapped her seat over so that she sat next to Sansa and pressed close to her. 

‘My father may be working with the  Lannisters but the rest of my family are not convinced. The Lords in Highgarden are not so easily swayed with promises and titles.’  Then she pulled away as quickly as she had moved in and returned to looking out of the window. 

Sansa watched her for some time, unsure of what to say. She’d marked Margaery as  interesting, not unlike her Grandmother, but to tell her such a thing so openly? 

‘First, we’re heading into Flea Bottom to give alms to some of the slum houses then  visit the market near the street of steel. I need some new fabric for a dress  and thought, why should I make a seamstress come all the way out here to choose me some when I can just get it myself. ’ Margaery  changed the subject with ease, ‘will you get some fabric too, Sansa? I hear you are very accomplished with the needle.’ 

They met eyes for a moment before Margaery turned away and Sansa  admitted that she didn’t have any plans on what to buy . 

They met with the other ladies at the poorhouses and distributed coin and food, the common folk falling over themselves to bless  Queen  Margaery  and grasp her hands.  While all attention was focused on the young Queen, Sansa slipped away from the hubbub and  made her way over to a solitary figure who was watching the crowds from a distance. She’d hoped that this would be a good chance for her to meet the man she’d been told about in the past month and he fit the descriptions perfectly. 

‘Lady Sansa.’ He regarded her cool ly without taking his eyes off Margaery.

‘I assume you are  this ‘high sparrow’?’ Her little birds had fed her titbits, that she’d returned to the council, about the rising influence of this  preacher. He seemed almost as opposed to the  Lannisters as she was. 

‘That is what they call me, yes.’ He chuckled to himself, ‘but I am one  among many sparrows, not their leader.’ 

‘But you would lead them, if the opportunity arose?’ 

‘If it would benefit th e people.’ He said with conviction, his eyes turned to her , ‘should I expect an offer soon then?’ 

‘The Queen mother is very interested in your prominence, as am I.’ Sansa had chosen to omit some of the content of his preaching to the council, especially his long sermons denouncing the entire Lannister family for their individual sins and denouncing the entire court in effect. ‘I am of the opinion that the royal court has lost its faith in the Seven, a strong leader like you could remind those that have faltered.’ 

Sansa had lost her faith in Seven as well during her time in Kings Landing. The Southern Gods were grand , and their  temples were exquisite , but no amount of prayer and song had protected her against the  Lannisters .  She was northern at heart, however much she use d  t o wish she wasn’t, so the old Gods  were the only Gods she could devote herself to. Still, it wo uld save her  a lot of effort if  these sparrows target ed Cersei . 

Sansa joined Margaery and, alongside her companions, they headed into the shops of the city. Sansa purchased some fine silks, a new hand mirror and, finding herself hungry, a lemon cake from a baker’s cart. 

‘They have the finest jewellery in here, Sansa.’ Lady Merry pulled her along into a small shop in the Street of Steel, gasping and pawing over the fine silver and gold necklaces behind a glass case. Sansa already owned plenty of jewellery and didn’t see sense in buying things she didn’t really need. Instead, as she waited for Merry to make her decision, she looked over a display of intricately designed broaches, each one depicting a different symbol or animal. 

‘My lady, is there anything you are looking for today? These are all handmade so if there was something else you had in mind, I’m sure we could make an arrangement.’ An old man had fallen into place beside her, he wore a leather apron over tattered working clothes, his skin was loose and his hair barely there. Sansa thought he looked out of place in amongst the beautiful things around them. When she turned to answer him, he started and before she could speak reached out and clutched at her hands with bony cold, fingers.

‘Lady Stark! Forgive me for not realising it was you, my eyes are failing me these days. Luckily I don’t need them that much anymore.’ He gestured to his younger assistant who now appeared to be flirting with Merry as he held necklaces against her. ‘I have something for you but I’ve never had the chance... hold on.’ He scurried away into the backroom and returned in an instant, carrying a small square of fabric. 

Tentatively, somehow fearing a trap, Sansa unwrapped the fabric parcel to reveal a small broach beneath, unlike any of the others she’d seen. The silver had been coloured so that it was lighter than the rest and had been moulded into the shaped of a wolf. Its eye was picked out in a single, tiny  sapphire that brought it to life when the light of the sun outside caught it. She picked it up, admiring the careful craftmanship and turned it over. In barely readable, lettering, her name was inscribed in the back – there was something familiar about the  flick of the ‘s ’ so she held it up to the light to get a better look. 

‘That’s your father’s hand.’ The proprietor smiled warmly, ‘he came by here not long before, well, I don’t need to remind you of what happened. He said you were upset by something so wanted to give you a gift worthy of you. I had him write the inscription down and copied his style as closely as I could. He was supposed to pick it up in a month’s time but when that time came, he was already gone so I’ve held onto it. Marcus wanted me to send it with a messenger to the Red Keep but I could never trust those messenger boys, you don -‘

He kept talking but Sansa lost focus, her fingers tracing the tiny word as her sight grew blurry with tears. It had been so long since anyone had spoken of her father without mentioning his treason; she had forgotten just how much she missed him. 

‘Come on Sansa, the Queen will be wondering where we are.’ Lady Merry shook her side, clutching a silk bag containing a necklace dotted with amber.

‘I’ll be right out.’ Sansa said, turning back  to the old gentleman, ‘how much do I owe you?’

‘It’s all paid for, my Lady,’ he shot her a sorrowful look, ‘not that I’d ask for anything, considering the situation.’

‘I must give you something.’ He shook his head resolutely, so Sansa looked back towards the other broaches and found one that had caught her eye earlier, a roaring lion with green eyes that matched her wolf’s. ‘I’ll take this one, as a gift.’ She placed the broach on his countertop and dropped more than enough silver into his hand. He tried to protest but she smiled, thanked him and left without another word. 

Sansa walked the Keep’s halls slowly, the two broaches wrapped in the deep velvet fabric and sitting comfortably in the drawstring bag she’d brought with her. On the ride from the city, Margaery had spoken non-stop, filling everyone in on the stories she’d heard and her purchases. Sansa hadn’t really been listening; every few minutes she reached into her bag, checking that the little parcel was still there, that no one had stolen her father away from her again. 

She opened the door to her chambers and set her bag upon a side table, pulling her cloak off and hanging it on its hook. 

‘Was the city enjoyable, Lady Stark?’ 

Sansa whirled around, her heart dropping. Sat in one of the reading chairs by the fire, in a great grey cloak held together by a silver mockingbird was Petyr Baelish, his eyes fixed upon her carefully. 

‘How did you- what are, w-’ Sansa realised then that there had been no guard on her door to open it for her. _ How foolish can I be? _She composed herself and tried again. ‘What are you doing here Lord Baelish?’ 

‘How are you Sansa? Come sit.’ He extended a hand and the corner of his mouth quirked into what she guessed could be defined as a smile but it wasn’t comforting in any way. ‘I come with grave news.’ 

‘My aunt Lysa… I already know.’ The news had reached her several days before from one of the little birds in the Vale. A few years ago, it would have been a harsh blow, finding out her aunt was dead but she’d hardly known Lady Lysa and she’d lost more important people. ‘And you know I’d find out before you arrived here- so why make the journey?’ 

‘She is one of your last living relations, Sansa,’ she hated the way he said her name as if he owned it, ‘I don’t expect anyone here has been sympathetic?’ 

‘Aren’t you protecting the Vale now though? I’m sure the Lords of the Vale don’t appreciate their new Lord, who should be in mourning, making a trip to King’s Landing. And why should I believe you care about me in any way?’ 

‘The Lords of the Vale will complain until winter comes about me, one trip away won’t hurt. And I’ve told you that I care deeply about you, I have always cared for your family.’ He leaned forward as if to take her hand but she pulled away and he sat backwards, disgruntled. 

‘All I know is that you were obsessed with my mother and that you were only nice to me while she was alive. Then, when she died, you married the next closest woman you could get to her. Now that she’s gone too, you’re back to me. You don’t care about me, you’ve only cared for my mother, you’ve never let her go.’ 

Littlefinger’s eyes sharpened and the slight upturning of his lips vanished, replaced by a sneer. ‘If I didn’t care about you, would I have risked my life, plotting with that fool to get you out of the city? Would I have waited for hours in a ship in the middle of the water for you? Come all the way here to offer you another way out, even though you have shown no appreciation for anything that I’ve ever done for you?’ He never raised his voice but he didn’t need to, Sansa could feel his anger radiating off his calm features and she was dumbstruck, nothing of what he said made any sense. 

‘That comes as a surprise? I thought that the new Master of Whispers would be aware of such things. Perhaps the rumours of your newfound intelligence were simply that… rumours.’ He sighed, ‘such a shame. This city needs someone proactive, I had hoped that would have been you.’ He shook his head and stood to leave, refusing to meet her eye. 

‘Wait,’ she called out desperately as he made his way past her, ‘I’m proactive, I’ve been – ‘ 

‘Making lots of friends,’ he finished for her, ‘being a good girl for Cersei, singing your pretty songs. Just because you’ve got a new title doesn’t mean you aren’t a helpless child under the Lannister’s thumb. What have you used your position for?’ 

Sansa couldn’t answer. He was right. She’d done nothing for months. 

‘We can speak again once you become something worth my time.’ He let his lips curve into a cruel smirk and left the room with a short laugh. 

She settled into the silence that followed his departure, her mind- 

‘Was that _ Littlefinger _? What did he want, another wife?’ Tyrion chuckled, as he stepped through the open door. ‘Sansa?’ 

She didn’t reply, her eyes fell upon her pouch discarded on a cabinet, through the fabric she felt the eyes of her broach staring at her. 

‘What did he say, did he hurt you?’ he dropped to his knees in front of her chair and searched her features as he cupped her hand in his. 

She shook her head no and met his eyes, ‘he was trying to help me, I think. He said he arranged for me to leave King’s Landing after Joffrey was supposed to die. He was trying to offer me another chance to leave.’ 

‘And you said no?’ That made no sense to Tyrion, his wife had made her desperation to leave clear to him. 

‘He didn’t give me the choice. He said I don’t deserve it. That I haven’t done anything of any importance.’ She could feel the heat in her cheeks rising as her eyes filled with hot, stinging tears that threatened to fall as she spoke. ‘And he’s right.’ 

‘No, yo-‘ 

‘I’ve what? Done exactly what’s been asked of me? Spent months giving secrets to the council, to Cersei, to your father, to Joffrey? Everyone expects me to do something worthwhile but I’ve actually done what they want me to? They killed my family and I’ve become a loyal advisor?’ The tears fell as her voice rose and her free hand closed into a tight fist. She dug her nails into her palm and closed her eyes firmly. ‘I have to do something now or I’ll never do anything. I have to get out of here!’ 

Tyrion grasped for something to say but nothing came to mind. He wanted to hold more than just her hands, but he didn’t dare draw any closer as she seethed in the silence. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked after a while. 

‘I’m going to finish what my brother started.’ 

‘Sansa, you-‘ 

‘Can’t go to war? I wouldn’t be able to alone, even if I had the North like Robb did, they’re under the Boltons now.’ Sansa sat forward in the chair, suddenly alert, ‘but… I do have the Dornish. If I can convince Oberyn to send his men to the North, I could rally them up there and reclaim Winterfell. Then we turn South.’ 

‘Oberyn wants justice, Sansa, why would he take his men in the opposite direction?’ 

‘If he wants justice, he’ll get it. Who in the world does he want dead more than anything?’ 

‘My father.’ Tyrion was reluctant to admit it. He was hardly soft towards Tywin Lannister but he’d avoided the subject for some time, preferring to shift the blame onto someone manageable, someone far away, someone like the Mountain. 

Sansa raised her eyebrow. ‘He goes on about Gregor Clegane so much though, I suspect he calls for his blood while he sleeps too. Why not him?’ 

Tyrion sighed and poured himself a cup of wine from the nearby jug, ‘the Mountain’s death is a compromise. My father is the real prize but his death would undoubtedly bring war onto Dorne. Even the Red Viper wouldn’t dare risk that.’ He took a deep swig and a dark look swept over his face, ‘my family is so embedded in every seat of power in this Godsforsaken land that I do believe only annihilation of every poisonous root would kill the weed, but no one is in a place to commit to such bloodshed.’ He chuckled as he poured himself another cup. 

Sansa shook her head in defiance, and rose from her seat with haste, reaching the door before she stopped herself and took a deep breath. ‘I got you something from the city.’ She picked up the fabric and knelt before his chair, trying to ease the ill temper she had dropped him into. She opened up the little parcel and handed the lion broach to him delicately, watching as he lifted an eyebrow, confused. 

‘Now you must be cruel to me too?’ He said bitterly, ‘why would you want me to wear the sigil of the family that killed off yours?’ 

‘Lions are not just killers. And you are not them. You should be proud of your name, your heritage, even if it is just to spite them.’ She pressed the broach into his hand and closed his fingers around them. 

‘_ Hear me roar. _Very well, it is very fine. Thank you, Sansa.’ He peered into her hands, ‘is there one for you too?’ 

‘Yes- my-.’ She put the velvets aside and placed the cold metal of the direwolf pin into her palm, the blue eyes staring back at her like burning ice. In those eyes she saw her father, leading the rebellion alongside Robert Baratheon, she saw Robb and Jon training for hours until caked in mud and blood, she even saw Arya sneaking out at night to smash a play sword against a tree till her hand blistered. 

She couldn’t see herself. 

‘I can’t wear it.’ 

‘Why not? If you’re worried about my sister I truly don’t think-’ 

‘No.’ She let out air she didn’t known she’d been holding on to and met his eyes, ‘this was from my father, he wanted me to be a wolf like all the Starks that have come before me but so far all I’ve done is betray them, let them die.’ 

He could see the deep pain set in her expression and knew that she’d never forgive herself for their deaths however much he reassured her that she was naïve and making the best decisions given the shit piling up around her. Instead he reached into her hand and took the broach from her, wrapping it up neatly, then dropped it into his pocket and gave her hand a squeeze. 

‘You go out there and do what you need to do. Take back the North and slaughter anyone who has ever crossed you. Rip your enemy to shreds like a direwolf then you can wear this, knowing you have earnt it and made all Starks before you proud in the process.’ 

Sansa nodded. 

‘And take this.’ He handed her the miniature lion back, ‘I shall do the same. It may be time for us both to show some real character.’ 


	6. The Rose Amongst Thorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some talk of abuse in this chapter- I try to keep any description basic but if you don't want to read that part, skip the paragraph starting 'Because I didn't...' as well as from 'Sansa shivered' to 'her throat was dry.' 
> 
> Anyway how's everyone's isolation going? Never been more bored in my life and I've got 6 months of summer ahead of me, keep safe guys x

Sansa did not sleep for two months. 

During the day, she smiled her brightest smiles, sung her sweet songs of secrets, silently let herself fall into mediocrity. When her purpose was served, she slipped into the night and did not return till the early hours in which she could squeeze a few blissful moments of sleep. 

Tyrion watched with awe as she swept through the halls each and every day and night, never letting anyone see her exhaustion nor her hatred that could only grow every minute she had to sit obediently and nod her head to the people who ruined all she’d had. When he arrived in King’s Landing and saw her beside Joffrey, Tyrion was certain she’d never regain the brightness in her eyes he’d glimpsed at Winterfell, not at least until she was free of this city. Yet, as each day passed, they regained a bit more of their shine and her cheeks a bit more of their colour. Still, he made sure she was eating enough, getting some rest, not letting the excitement spin her out of control. Not that he wasn’t excited too- he'd been in this city for too damn long. 

‘You give him to them, you might as well be killing him!’ 

‘Would that be so wrong? He’s a monster, you and I both know that.’ 

Tyrion was content to allow his wife to murder his father but somehow he got stuck on the prospect on her handing Joffrey to the Martells. He knew the boy deserved torture and death, who would argue that, but Sansa was still a child and he couldn’t let her lose herself to revenge as so many had before. 

‘I have Oberyn’s word that, provided Tywin is dealt with, the King will be held as a captive until Cersei gives up her power. The Martells know he’s worth more alive than dead even if Joffrey couldn’t quite grasp the subject.’ Sansa wanted him dead so much it scared her. She imagined how she’d do it; she saw his blood when she closed her eyes and dreamt of the catharsis of plunging a knife deep within his chest. She’d reminded herself before though, it wasn’t the right time; his death had to mean something. 

‘Anyway, I think Lady Olenna is suspicious. She’s been avoiding me if we cross paths and even my spies can’t get anything on what she’s being doing or who she’s been speaking too recently.’ 

‘How could she know anything?’ Tyrion sighed and poured them both a cup of wine as they enjoyed a rare few moments between the rush of the day and Sansa’s arranged meeting time with Oberyn Martell. ‘You’ve been working so hard, are you sure you’re not just stressed, a little paranoid now everything is so close?’ 

She took a long sip of the Arbor red, letting its warmth sink down her throat and pool in her stomach, before shaking her head. ‘Have you heard from the little Queen either? She hasn’t been in court for some time now and she usually walks with her grandmother yet Olenna has always been alone. I tried to speak to Mace Tyrell but he seemed oblivious, said she was probably out hawking but I went to the aviary and the hawks having been out in weeks. Then there were he ladies in waiting, all offering nothing but small talk and repeating the same explanation when I asked about Margaery. Something is off, you can’t deny that.’ 

‘Perhaps yes, but perhaps she is unwell or upset or, gods forgive, with child. Have you really been investigating this alongside everything else? If you don’t stop soon you won’t make it until your great escape. Just a few days left and then we’re leaving, no? Surely, it’s all in place by now?’ He didn’t like how thin she was looking, the darkness growing beneath her eyes, the tapping of her foot as soon as she sat down for too long. ‘You’re just a child, Sansa. This isn’t your burden.’ 

She couldn’t argue with him, slumping further into her chair and sipping more of her wine. Her whole body ached even when she sat still. Until now she’d been getting through everything with the knowledge that she was so close to freedom yet now she really was close, worry plagued her and she couldn’t help but imagine it crumbling around her. 

_ If this goes wrong, I’m dead. But, wasn’t that the same risk my father, brother and mother had taken? That everyone takes in this foul game? _

Her meeting with Oberyn was short that evening, there was little left to discuss, and he ordered her to get rest. Instead, Sansa walked the twisting halls absentmindedly, her mind spinning through their plot as she let her feet guide her. She had no intention of ending up in the maiden vault, nor did she notice herself veering towards Margaery’s quarters. The guards let her pass into the vault itself but refused her entry to the rooms beyond, even when demanding she be permitted inside on council business. Only later did that occur as strange to her; Tyrell guards refusing orders of the council of which their Lord sat upon. 

As she left, sleep wrapping itself around her and tugging her towards her bed, Sansa heard small footsteps nearby and a maid skipped past with a tray of hot herbal drinks that almost spilled as she turned the corner. She watched as the girl smiled sweetly to the guards and slipped through the open door. In a few minutes she returned carrying an empty tray, spoke briefly to the guards, and continued back around the corner and into the darkness beyond. 

Sansa checked the scarf was fixed tight around her head one last time before she pushed open the door to the kitchen. She was hit by a blast of steam from one side of the room and the warmth of the packed tight ovens from the other. She slipped through the throng of scullions cleaning the day’s plates and the kitchen maids awaiting their chance to eat after a long day. She kept her eyes down as she made her way toward the woman she assumed to be Enea, a great hulking kitchen maid with 10 years on everyone around her and, commonly, a bad temper. 

As Sansa stopped near an empty table, staring at her feet, Enea’s voice rose above the others. 

‘Did you not _ think _to tell me she wasn’t here? Do you not think I would want to know? Hmm?’ 

Whoever she was talking too let out what Sansa could only describe as a pup’s whimper. 

‘No, you don’t think, do you? Get out of sight and let me clear up your mess once more!’ The room fell back to its normal volume before ‘girl! What are you doing standing around, you have a job don’t you?’ 

Sansa turned and found the great woman’s eyes fixed on her, sweat pooling in the grooves in her forehead. 

‘I have not been given a job, m’lady.’ She bowed her head like a simpering fool, ‘I’m one of Queen Margaery’s maidservants but they said I could not see her and had to come here instead. I’ve never worked in a kitchen like this before.’ She disguised her northern accent with the lilt of the West and kept her head down even though she was of height with Enea. 

‘Well don’t stand around and do nothing! I won’t have you getting in the way in my kitchen.’ She reached over and picked up a tray, ‘You take this to the Queen, your Lady, and come back down here quick-like. The normal girl hasn’t shown up, whoring with some stable-boy again I s’pose, but she’s always in and out of the chambers like a fox so you do the same. No idling with your mistress or I’ll have you rubbing your pretty hands raw on the floor. Go on then, quick as you like!’ 

‘Aye, m’lady. Will do, m’lady!’ Sansa wasted no time skipping out of the kitchen, admiring just how easy that had been. 

After leaving Margaery’s the day before she soon found one of her little birds and asked for everything on the maidservant who delivered the tea. There was little to know other than she was from Summerhall and that she reported to Cersei once a week but never with anything important. After that, all it took was a few drops of sleeping draught in her cup while she was working in the morning and another little bird nearby in case she woke up early. 

When she made it to the door, the guards lifted their heads to look her over, lingered on her for enough time for Sansa to fear they’d hear her heart thumping erratically, then nodded silently and pushed it open just enough so that she could pass. She’d expected the room to be incredibly hot or foul smelling, or for the windows to be thrown open to let the air in, as normally was the case for a sick-room, yet there was nothing out of the ordinary at all. A small, fire sat dying in the hearth but most of the light in the room came from the candles surrounding the bed, providing enough light for Margaery, propped up on cushions, to read. 

‘Good evening, your Grace.’ Sansa mumbled as she made her way over with the tray, all the while looking out for any signs of illness, ‘are you well?’ 

‘Hmm?’ Margaery lifted her head and set her book aside when she realised she was not alone, ‘oh I am perfectly fine, thank you. Where is Lela?’ 

‘In bed, your Grace. She felt a malady comin’ on and didn’t want to spread it to yourself.’ Sansa set the tray on the bed beside Margaery who took up the steaming tea and took slow sips. ‘Are you sure you’re well, there are rumours that you’re on your deathbed.’ 

Margaery chuckled at that, ‘is that what they’re saying? You know you shouldn’t really be talking to me, the other girl was under strict instruction not to. I suppose they want to keep up the illusion for as long as possible.’ She shifted to sit up fully on the bed and, for a brief second, her features were lit up by the flames. 

‘Who hurt you?’ In may have only been a glimpse, but Sansa was sure she’s seen the deep greens and purples of bruises across her face. 

‘Your accent just changed, do you know that?’ A smile crawled onto Margaery’s face as she picked up one of the candles and moved it closer to Sansa’s face, ‘Sansa?’ 

She unravelled the scarf around her head and let her red hair fall down her back, taking a few moments before looking up to meet the Queen’s eyes. At this distance, above the candle, the bruises around her eyes and cheeks were hard to ignore and it didn’t take long for Sansa to understand why she’d been locked away. 

‘He did this.’ It wasn’t a question, Sansa had no doubt that it was Joffrey hands that had delivered these blows, she reached forward and gently pressed her hand onto Margaery’s cheek, still warm to the touch. 

‘I-’ 

The door threw open behind her and Sansa immediately dropped her hand and looked at the floor, her hair falling about her face as a poor disguise. 

‘They almost didn’t let me in, you know? Tyrell men not letting their own lady see her grand-daughter? I tell you these halls turn everything upside-down and I’m tired of it.’ Lady Olenna Tyrell brushed past Sansa as if she wasn’t there and perched on the bed beside Margaery. ‘Cersei Lannister is eager for you to get on your feet, of course. Seems she doesn’t understand how long a beating takes to heal. I suggested taking to Highgarden to get some fresh air and you haven’t seen a face turn so sour.’ She chuckled at herself and took a strand of Margaery’s hair in her hand, ‘still, she wasn’t to know what a little shit her son was, all mothers like her are blinded by their sons at his age.’ 

‘But _ you _knew what he was- I told you!’ Sansa couldn’t help but speak up; she had often wondered about Lady Olenna, playing the dutiful grandmother but allowing Margaery to marry the boy she’d been warned about. Sansa had told them through tears of the suffering that Joffrey had brought her, and now she was surprised that this had happened, unwilling to take any blame? 

‘Sansa Stark? The very girl who allowed Joffrey to live is now blaming me for his actions? If you had kept to yourself Margaery would have wedded little Tommen and we wouldn’t be here, would we?’ 

‘And then Cersei and Tywin would hold all the power in Westeros, they are the biggest danger to realm, not one arrogant, cruel boy king.’ 

‘And do they not rule now? That boy has no real power here. Are you so naïve to think that he can overrule his mother? Or grandfather? It does not matter which incestuous bastard is king but at least the younger brother is less repugnant than the elder.’ Olenna made her way over to Margaery as the young Queen finished the herbal tea. Her thin fingers softly traced the bruises along soft, blemish-free skin before she sat down and sighed deeply. ‘It was never my intention to hurt you, my dear. I thought your brother would be your protector as always but with you hidden away like this and him at Storm’s End, what am I to do?’ 

Lady Olenna looked exhausted as she perched on the edge of the featherbed, her hand still cupping Margaery’s cheek, thumb running up and down her cheekbone. 

‘Why?’ Sansa took the chair next to the bed and pulled it closer, leaning forward and wringing her hands, dreading the answer. 

‘Because I didn’t give him an heir.’ Margaery half-laughed as Lady Olenna bowed her head. ‘His mother was growing tired of me, it seems, and wanted me to finally suit my purpose; she put it in his head that if I didn’t have a child now, it would be too late. He, of course, believed her lies and insisted on laying with me every night for a moon’s turn. After that had a maester check on me every morning to see if his seed had taken root within me and I suppose the maester reported back to him because as more days passed he grew more frustrated at me. He was sure I was barren and these strange women tested my fertility. When they told him the problem was not with me, his temper overtook him and he boxed one of the poor women in the ear. Since then he stopped letting me out of the keep, afraid I was secretly buying moon tea, then he had spies watch my every action, kept my ladies away and, when all of that failed to produce him an heir, he turned his anger on me.’ She gestured towards the bruising, a smile playing on her lips. ‘Still hasn’t gotten him what he wants though.’ 

‘I’m sorr-’ Sansa began. 

‘Don’t say that, I’m not dead,’ Margaery reached forward and took her hand, ‘I’m just glad I got the chance to see you, you’re the only one here who would understand what he truly is. Will you come back tomorrow?’ 

‘Um-’ Sansa faltered. There was nothing in the world, at that moment, that she wanted more than sitting with her closest friend, filling their lonely hours like sisters, telling stories and giggling through cups of wine. Tomorrow was so intricately planned out, one misstep and her head was on a spike. Not just hers either, they’d stick Brienne, Oberyn, Tyrion and half a dozen informants up with her given the chance. 

Sansa shivered. She looked down at herself and found her dress torn off, her hands desperately trying to hold up the ribbons of fabric left for her. Ser Meryn Trant walked towards her, swaggering with a wide, malicious grin plastered on his face. Voices called out in the Great Hall and his hand rose high above and, with an almost delicate swish, it came down into her stomach. Sansa felt nothing. A kick was sent into her side. Someone from behind pulled at her hair. The butt of sword was thrust into her solider. She never winced, never made a sound, just stared straight ahead at the perpetrator on his throne in front of her, laughing as she was brought to the ground. 

She wasn’t cold anymore, the fire in the hearth burned with fresh logs. She was no longer herself, she felt shorter, her hair was darker and a strange confidence filled her. Once more Joffrey stood in front of her, now shouting and pointing accusingly, his nostrils flaring and spittle flying from his mouth whenever he opened it. At once he raised his hand and cast it down upon her and then again, and again, and again. With each blow the look in his eyes grew wilder and only a knock at the door finally tore him away from his sport. Margaery never flinched, the heat rose in her but she bid it to do so slowly and never boil over. A strange calm overcame her and, as he turned and stalked out, she laughed out loud until her throat was dry. 

‘Yes. I’ll be here.’ 

By the time Sansa was back in her chambers, her heart was set on curling up beneath the furs in her bed and preparing for the testing day ahead yet this new development left things to be done, arrangements to be made. So, against her body’s demands, she changed into her own gown and a thick dark cloak and started out again. 

She awoke as usual the following morning, ignoring the hours of hurried reorganisation followed by too few hours of fretful sleep. _ Today is nothing special, _ she told herself as she was tied into her dress, _ I must go about my duties as usual. _ She attended a small council meeting with Tyrion, ate lunch with some of Margaery’s clucking hens, made idle conversation with her informants (there was no need to gain information from them anymore) and then walked the grounds, enjoying the heat of the afternoon sun on her face. _ I won’t see the sun for some time, I suppose. Not at once I’ve crossed the Twins. _How she intended to get past Walder Frey she didn’t know – she'd deal with that problem once she dealt with the thousand other complications she was likely to face. 

At long last, seeing nothing else needed doing, Sansa returned to her chambers, hanging up her cloak and removing her shoes before laying back on the bed and stretching out, wondering how long it would be until she’d next sleep on a featherbed. 

‘Sansa?’ Sansa jumped up, as Tyrion gently shook her arm... had she been sleeping? The sun hadn’t dropped too much further in the sky, she was relieved to see out of the window. ‘How are you?’ 

‘Nervous.’ She admitted with a slight smile, _ but not for the reasons you think _. She’d had months of planning originally so she was pretty certain it was foolproof yet there was no way of being so convinced about the changes she made last night. She was well aware she wasn’t prepared for what would happen if it all went wrong and it could easily all go wrong. She thanked Varys for his gift to her, if she didn’t have his ‘little birds’ at her disposal, there was no way any of it could have been arranged, let alone the last-minute adjustments. 

‘Good. I’d be worried if you weren’t.’ He pulled himself onto the bed next to her and reached into a bag he’d brought in with him. From it he removed something draped in a velvet cloth and laid it on her lap. Carefully, Sansa folded back the cover. There sat a long-bladed dagger with an ivory hilt decorated with a row of green and blue jewels. She took it in one of her hands and slashed several times, the sun catching the steel as it sliced through the air. Tyrion moved off of the bed and pulled open a draw, taking out a leather belt with a short scabbard that she guessed would fit the knife perfectly. 

‘I had it specially made.’ Tyrion continued as he handed her the belt, ‘it will sit at the waist instead of the hips so you can still wear a dress underneath. I thought you should probably go to war with at least a little protection.’ 

‘I don’t know what to say- thank you.’ She put down the dagger and belt and threw her arms around his neck, holding on tightly as if someone was pulling him away. _ Not him, me. _ She reminded herself, _ he can remain here and live in peace. He’ll hate me for leaving him. _

Since the birth of their plan, Tyrion was always set on leaving with her. King’s Landing had little left for him and he needed a break from the Lannisters prowling the halls. There was the issue of his father as well. Sansa had always felt uncomfortable planning her husband’s murder yet he assured her it was what he wanted, he even volunteered to do it himself. Now she’d taken that away from him too. Tyrion was safe though, and Margaery was not, that was what mattered and why things _ had _ to be the way they were, why she _ had _ to slip poison into his wine, why she _ had _ don her serving girl cloak once more, why she _ had _to have her little birds ensure no guards would get in her way- 

And why Sansa Stark _ had _to kill the King. 


	7. The Birth of the Wolf

Tyrion never liked waiting, and this was killing him. She’d gone one, maybe two, hours ago to finalise her arrangements and she promised to be back soon. When she returned they’d set off, he  expected. _ When she returns my father will finally pay for everything.  _ He’d promised Cersei to take away all that she loved and this was at least a good start, and not likely to be the end of it. He wrapped himself in a think hooded cloak as he waited so he wouldn’t forget to take it. He recalled his last trip to the North.  _ If it wasn’t for those stolen furs, I likely would have died up there.  _

There was a soft knock at the door and he jumped from his seat, expectantly, but was disappointed when a serving girl entered with a fresh carafe of wine. Tyrion sat himself back down and nodded at the child, holding out his cup for her to fill. 

He couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened to her.  _ She wouldn’t go without me. Could she have been discovered? One of her informants slip a little too much information to my sweet sister and now they’re on their way here with pickets and flaming torches?  _ He drank deep from his cup and leant his head backwards into the chair, allowing the sweet red to calm his nerves and settle his wringing stomach. His cup was soon refilled and he drank that quickly too, forgetting his previous vow not to drink too much tonight so that he may at least savour his father’s death, remember the look on his face when his own disappointment takes his life. 

‘Oh, my apologies my Lord. The Lady Stark gave me this for you.’ She produced a small delicate letter from a pocket which he seized quickly, thanking her as he tore at the envelope. His eyes darted back and forward as he took it all in but the further he got into her letter, the more confusing it became and his head began to spin as he melted into the chair as if floating on the Blackwater. 

‘My Lord!’ 

The serving girl shook him from his daze and he had just enough energy to open his eyes and face her. 

‘Lady Sansa said there’s something else she couldn’t write to  you, in case someone found the letter. She told me to tell you that your original plan can still go ahead, no she didn’t say can, she said it  _ must  _ go ahead. He still has to die. She said it was very important that you heard that before... my Lord? Can you hear me? My Lord?’ The girl continued to try to wake him for several minutes but at last gave up and, taking the cup from his hand as well as her own carafe, she left him alone, praying to the Gods he’d heard what the Lady was so sure he had to know. 

The guards let her pass this time with barely a glance. What did they care which serving-girl delivered the tea? Once more Margaery was propped up in bed, this time reading by the candlelight. 

‘Sansa!’ She half whispered; half shouted when Sansa removed her hood and set the tray down.

‘Did you get my message?’ 

Margaery responded by casting aside the furs and covers to reveal herself to be fully clothed, a thick cloak draped across the end of the bed in preparation. 

‘Your little friend wouldn’t tell me why I had to get dressed, are you stealing me away?’ Margaery raised a corner of her mouth in a smirk as she jumped up and began lacing up her boots. 

‘Something like that. Only if you want to go, of course.’ 

Margaery froze and met Sansa’s eyes, ‘you’re not  joking, are you? We’re leaving tonight?’ 

‘Yes, and we don’t have much time. We’ve both seen enough here, too much. There are greater tasks to be completed than us waiting for the  Lannisters to kill us or be killed themselves.’ 

Margaery began to pack a small bag with small trinkets and a purse bursting with coin. She tied that around herself and threw the cloak over her shoulders, fastened with a delicate rose broach. That gave Sansa an idea. She scanned the room the smiled triumphantly. She plucked a single rose from a vase above the hearth then turned to the bed and rolled up a wolf fur to bring along too. 

‘ Sigils ?’ Margaery appeared beside Sansa, eager and ready to leave, ‘to leave a message I presume? That’s very sly, it seems my grandmother was quite wrong about you.’ She turned towards the front door but Sansa caught her arm and shook her head. Instead she made her way to the side of the bed closest to the window and began pressing the stones on the wall until one clicked.

Margaery jumped forward and helped her push the false wall aside, revealing a small passageway lit by nearly burnt out torches. 

‘Just head all the way to the end and it’ll open into several corridors, wait there and I’ll meet you as soon as I can.’ Sansa collected the tray and began towards the door as Margaery called out.

‘You’re not coming with me?’

‘If I don’t leave soon they’ll get suspicious, we can’t have them raising the alarm early.’ 

‘But why didn’t you just come in through here?’ She was half inside the passage when the thought came to her and she turned back to see Sansa at the door, adjusting her hood. 

‘It only opens from this side. Whoever made these additions didn’t want anyone entering the maiden vault in the middle of the night it  seem,s but it was fine to use it to get people out without being seen.’ Sansa knocked at the door and disappeared on the other side. 

Margaery sucked up the cold air, wrapping the wolf fur she carried close to her chest as she encased herself in the semi-darkness. When she entered, she must have stood on something as a mechanism grinded and the door behind her shut, shutting out the light and entrapping her. There was no way back into her rooms from here, Sansa had told her, so she had to go forward, following the passage as far as it would take her until it thankfully took her into a more open cavern. 

Sansa didn’t take long to emerge from the entrance of a corridor to Margaery’s left, her face lit by the warm flames of a candle. Wordlessly Margaery followed close behind as they marched through the darkness, turning left, and then right, then walking for some time and then nearly turning all the way back around but instead walking through an archway Margaery could have sworn wasn’t there until she was passing under it. Sansa stopped and used the candle to light a torch that illuminated the door before them.

‘Whose is that?’ 

‘Joffrey’s.’ 

Margaery couldn’t see Sansa’s face but she could tell by the coldness in her voice that this trip wasn’t about saying their farewells. Something about what she supposed Sansa had been planning would normally have chilled her to the bone yet she couldn’t count the times she’d seen him, behind her eyes, his body broken and twisted, not quite dead, but suffering. She knew her grandmother had been planning his death for years, yet, poison could be so clean, if a little grotesque, – Sansa wore a knife at her waist, nothing more. 

‘You can stay outside if you’d prefer?’ 

‘No. I want to see this.’ Margaery’s voice was resolute, even if she could barely hear it over the erratic thumping of her heart. She nodded her head and Sansa did the same, pushing open the door slowly to reveal a small crawlspace with a gap of light streaming in from the room beyond. 

It was quiet, lit only by the dying hearth on the other side of the room. From the slit in the wall Sansa could see a bundle of furs in the bed that rose and fell slowly and a pile of clothes discarded on a chair. She gave another nod to Margaery and carefully searched the wall until she found the string she was looking for. When pulled, the room seemed to silently shift as a bookcase that appeared so heavy glided across the floor to reveal an opening into the chamber. 

Sansa had to stand still for a few moments as she reached the centre of the room. She knew time was running short yet nothing could beat the pure joy she felt for at least getting this far. 

‘Wait, what if he wakes up? Won’t the guards he-’

‘What are you two doing here?’ 

Joffrey was sat up in his nightshirt holding a candle out towards them and raising an eyebrow suspiciously. He hopped off of the bed and padded, barefoot, to them, ‘How did you get in here?’

Both of them remained silent as he moved closer.

‘Say something!’ His voice grew louder, ‘is there some council business? Has the city caught ablaze? Or are you just two fools bothering me?’ 

He turned briefly to glance at the window, in case some real tragedy had befallen the city, lingering just enough for Sansa to slip the knife from her belt and pull her cloak back around herself to conceal it. 

‘We wanted to tell how you brilliant you were. That’s all.’ Margaery’s face erupted in a smile as she took his hand in hers, ‘we were talking, gossiping really, and we both realised how cruel we’d been to you, how much you deserved as such a strong and gallant King.’ 

Sansa was almost sick to hear her sweet voice as she brought her spare hand up to caress his cheek but he seemed easier to please, his shoulders dropping and his face relaxing.

‘Oh. Well it is about time. I suppose you women sometimes need a little more time to understand things so I will forgive you for your combined treacheries.’ He turned to inspect Sansa who shot him the most honeyed smile she could manage, remaining silent. 

‘We are so sorry for waking you. Let us help you back to sleep, my love.’ Margaery stepped forward and pressed him back towards the bed. He complied, the smug look on his face never faltering, as Margaery sat beside him, stroking his blonde curls as she hummed him a tune. 

As his eyes slipped close, Sansa made her way to the other side of the bed, crawling slowly to him so to not jolt him back awake. When in position she looked to Margaery, who nodded, before swinging over him in one swift movement, bringing her dagger to his throat as her weight fell upon him. 

His eyes shot open in shock but the pressure on his  voice-box forbid him from making any noises bar some garbled cries and whimpers. 

‘Are you so much of a fool that you would think the women who you tortured and abused would come here simply to sing you to sleep?’ Sansa spat, ‘do you think we’d kiss your feet and fall on our knees for your forgiveness?’ 

He struggled beneath her but Margaery pinned his arms down and the Sansa pushed a leg backwards to keep him in place. 

‘No man can continue as you have and not face any consequence, King or peasant. You are responsible for the death of most of my family yet you let me join your council, you let me have freedom of your castle, you let me creep right under your nose even though I had the most reason to wish you dead out of everyone here.’ 

He tried to speak so she relaxed the knife slightly, pressing instead upwards, directly above the artery she could see throbbing in his neck. 

‘You fucking bitch.’ He hissed but Sansa only laughed as he continued to flail beneath her. There was something about having complete control over a person, and to feel them struggle, that she found rather enjoyable. ‘Guards!’

‘There’s no one out there I’m afraid.’ Sansa smiled, ‘it’s just us three for tonight.’

‘What you want from me? I’ll let you go if that’s it, you can take whatever you want as well!’ His voice had grown high and petulant in his panic, the same voice he used with his mother. 

‘I thought we were just simple  _ bitches _ ?’ Margaery dropped her head to one side, ‘surely a strong, gallant King can defend himself against us?’ 

‘Well...I was s-sleeping. You tricked me... caught me off guard. I-it’s not fair!’ 

‘Was it fair when you imprisoned my father or when you killed him despite promising mercy? Was it fair when you kept me here just to abuse me daily? Was it fair to beat Margaery for your own failing to get a child upon her?’ He remained silent, his eyes wide and unblinking as the pressure of her dagger increased. ‘Life for us, and for so many more, have never been fair because of you and the Gods will judge you thusly. Not the Seven you worship but my Gods, the Northern Gods. They don’t take lightly to the murder of a true and honourable Northman.’ 

‘Fuck the Gods!’ He managed to wheeze.

‘That’s not the wisest thing to say right before you meet them is it?’ Margaery’s sickly smile never drooped, ‘but if those are your last words- so be it.’ 

With that, Sansa raised the knife and brought it done hard into the centre of his chest, hearing the sweet cracking of bones as his shirt grew dark with blood. 

‘I’m sorry we can’t stay longer but-’ she raised her knife again and plunged it into his stomach, ‘we could do this all night if we didn’t have other plans.’ 

He opened his mouth to repute her but as he did so, Margaery stuck the dagger just below the collarbone and bloody froth erupted from his mouth instead. He coughed violently as they continued with their blows until Sansa began to feel the tension in his body weaken as his muscles relaxed and limbs stopped resisting beneath her. 

Carefully and ready to spring back again if he moved, Sansa lifted herself back onto the bed beside him, her eyes meeting with Margaery who sat staring at the bloody mess before them. Silently they watched as his chest rose and fell shakily, each breath more laboured than the last. With a final rasping, gurgling sound, his body slumped and the room fell into an almost peaceful tranquillity. 

Sansa reached forward and took Margaery’s hand in her own, both slick with blood, as she pulled herself off the bed. She could’ve stayed in there with his lifeless form for hours without tiring but if they were not careful, they’d miss their chance to escape and this would all be for nothing. They returned into the dark passageway through the bookcase and retrieved the pelt and rose left there. Sansa swept all other furs from the bed and wrapped him in hers whilst Margaery placed the rose upon his chest. 

‘Today winter came for Joffrey Baratheon.’ Sansa spoke aloud, ‘Tomorrow it will fall upon all else who oppose it.’ 

They were back in the passageways when Margaery stopped dead behind Sansa.

‘My Grandmother! She visits me most nights. If she sees me missing, she’ll sound the alarm from here to the wall.’ 

‘Don’t worry about that.’ Sansa assured, ‘Lady  Olenna came to your room, spoke with you but you were tired so she left and went to bed herself.’ 

‘You spoke with her?’ The colour returned to Margaery’s cheeks and her jaw softened, ‘you convinced her to play along?’ 

‘Of course, she was more than willing to comply.’ 

In truth Lady  Olenna had been far from ‘willing to comply’. The first challenge had been finding the slippery woman. Sansa knew the Queen of Thorns spent most of her free time in the gardens of the Keep but the gardens were extensive and easy to get lost in. She was sure she’d walked the entire length of them twice before she spotted a deep blue headscarf amongst the flowerbeds and found Lady  Olenna on bench as several of her maids pulled weeds from between stone slabs. When she spotted Sansa lingering, she let out a sigh and moved aside on the bench to let her sit.

Sansa explained all she could; her original plan, the new plan, the arrangements she had made and the role Lady  Olenna had to play so to not arouse suspicion. She expected the old woman would be grateful that Sansa was freeing her granddaughter yet she scoffed when Sansa brought it up and it took countless promises of protection for her to finally cave. 

_ She still wanted Margaery to marry Tommen _ , Sansa figured,  _ she’s annoyed I’m taking away her opportunity to advance her family.  _

Sansa didn’t tell Margaery of her grandmother’s reluctance to help her. Instead they moved on through the passageways before emerging from behind a tapestry into a corridor. She’d have like to have  taken the dark tunnels all the way out but she couldn’t find a route that took her from Joffrey’s room to the black cells so she had Margaery pull up her hood as if she were Sansa’s maid, and the two continued in the open. 

‘Ah, Sansa!’ 

Sansa cursed the gods as he came blundering around the corner, preceded by a waft of strong ales. 

‘You ‘ aven’t seen Tyrion around anywhere? Went to your chambers but the guard sent he wasn’t in and I can’t find him elsewhere.’ Ser Bronn wiped his hands down on his cloak and leant against the wall. 

‘No, sorry.’ Sansa smiled and began past him, pulling Margaery along with her. 

‘Ah. Well when you do, tell him I said goodbye. Can’t have him thinking I’m completely heartless and would leave without seeing him.’ 

‘I will, thank you. I know you met him as a sell-sword but he regards you as a good friend, you know?’ An idea came to her, ‘prolong your trip a few days, if you can. Or else leave late tomorrow.’

‘What?’

‘Your service to my husband will still be needed. You’ll see what I mean soon, I’m sure.’  _ Sooner every second. _ ‘I wou ld owe a lot to you if you served him one more time before y ou left.’ _ _

_ That should keep Tyrion alive for now.  _ _ No doubt the blame for this will fall at his feet in the morning.  _

He shot her a puzzled look and went to question her but she nodded her head and swept past  him, turning round corner before he could follow. 

As promised, the door to the cells below the keep was unguarded and they remained unbothered on their descent. Only when they reached the black cell, buried the deepest under Kings Landing, did they come across a turnkey – lying still at his post. 

The door swung open and they followed the directions Sansa had been given carefully until they reached a well like opening with a ladder leading into the abyss. The descent lasted for days, Sansa would later claim, as they delved further into the bowls of the castle but when they emerged, the moon still hung high in the sky and time remained on their side. 

She took a deep breath in and filled her lungs with the stench of the city; nothing had ever smelt so sweet. 

The trip to the harbour was short. They ran, hand in hand, through the empty streets, their laughter shattering the otherwise heavy silence. Sansa did not care when her hood flew off her head  and her red hair streamed behind her for all to see. She did not care when they turned a corner and nearly knocked over a gaggle of drunkards leaving an inn. She did not care when a pair of guards attempted to stop them. They passed them by. Nobody followed them. Nobody called their names. Nobody locked them away. 

‘What are you- I was beginning to think you would never make it.’  Oberyn Martell stood leaning up against a post beside the  Dornish pleasure-boat awaiting them. She tried to pass him but his hand shot out and grabbed hold of her arm just tight enough to stop her. ‘This one is taller than expected. Where is your counterpart?’ 

‘The plan changed,’ she shrugged, ‘this is Margaery. She needed to get out of the city more than Tyrion so I helped her.’ 

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, ‘I’m am disappointed not to be in the dwarf’s company, he is a wise man, but if she needed it more,’ he turned, ‘welcome abroad Lady Margaery.’ 

Margaery passed them and was helped onto the barge but his hand lingered on her arm.

‘I’m sure that was the only change you made without consulting me? You must remember we made an arrangement. I will take your friend to safety but your place requires payment.’ Even in the darkness Sansa could see the fire in his eyes.

‘Tywin Lannister lives for now.’ 

Oberyn tossed her aside in fury and he began spitting out insults so loud she was afraid people would grow too curious and hear  too much. 

‘But the King was less fortunate.’

Oberyn fell silent, watching Sansa as she raised her hands to the moonlight which was just bright enough to be able to distinguish the dark red on her pale skin. As they stood in silence, the city erupted in noise as bells rang out. First from the Red Keep in the distance, then spreading out like flames as more bells joined in the mourning call. He took her arm again, nearly lifting her as he bundled her towards the ship before casting off and jumping aboard. 

As they pulled out into the harbour, Sansa remained alone on the deck. She held her cloak together with one hand, in lieu of a broach, against the bitter wind and leant against the rail with other. She stood there for some time; her eyes fixed on the rising towers of the Keep as they fell into darkness and then the dwindling lights of the city until it too was lost from view. Still, she gazed out as the bells echoed across the water, calling out her crimes to all of Westeros. Eventually even the death knoll of the bells faded away and Sansa was left alone with the silence.

A smile spread across her face. 


	8. The Viper's Nest

The journey to Dorne was endless. 

The stretch out of Kings Landing and past Massey’s Hook was swift, the waters proving calm and generous. Storms set upon them as they sailed around Tarth and through Shipbreaker Bay, drenching the deck every night and swaying the hull so hard Sansa could barely keep her meals down. Margaery fared even worse, locked away in their shared cabin most days and nights, only leaving to walk the deck when the storm wavered. 

The pleasure-boat Oberyn had chartered was not meant for open water like this. It was built to cruise around harbours and along rivers whilst its inhabitants enjoyed each-others company and much more besides. Sansa couldn’t find an ounce of ‘pleasure’ on the damned thing; rats scurried in the corners of every room; the fine food soon ran out and was replaced by meagre porridges and broths; and every time a wave hit the hull; she was certain they were going under. 

‘Dorne is closer every day.’ Oberyn Martell assured her one morning as she tried her best to finish the stew of undefined meat, failing quickly. She tried to tell that to herself every day, yet Dorne never came and the sea looked so similar everywhere, she was sure the ship hadn’t moved at all. 

The only true ‘pleasure’ of the trip was Oberyn and Ellaria. Oberyn had enough stories to tell in a lifetime and, each night, over wine, he’d do is best to tell as many impossible, filling the still air with songs of battles, romances, tragedies and heroes. By the time they returned to their cabin, Sansa and Margaery’s sides would ache with laughter and they’d sit together laughing still until the rocking slowed enough to allow them a few hours of respite. Ellaria had stories too, but a different kind. She told them of her life as Oberyn’s paramour; how they met, their secret rendezvous, meeting Prince Doran, and of course she told them plenty about the Sandsnakes. 

Margaery liked those stories best. Oberyn’s daughters seizing their place within the world, each boasting their own talents, each as deadly as the last. She’d sit with Ellaria with many hours asking more questions and spent most of her time with Sansa overflowing with excitement about meeting them. 

Sansa was more interested in Oberyn’s tales of Dorne. Part of her wanted to remain on this boat forever, however ill it made her feel, just to prolong meeting with Prince Doran and begging with for support. She didn’t know how to beg for help, so far it had just been given to her, and the thought of his rejection plagued her dreams. In most of them she was on her knees before him, clinging to his feet as he pushed her away and laughed scornfully from above. Oberyn caught her up with as much history as he could but however much she knew about the Dornish Prince, what was stopping him from handing her straight back to Cersei for execution? 

Solid ground was a welcome feeling at least. Their company arrived at Sunspear, greeted by guards clad in loose garments in lieu of armour, with an array of weapons strapped to their waist and legs. The palace loomed high over the small harbour, many times the size of Winterfell, with rounded sandstone towers disappearing into the clouds. They were led in through clay-bricked halls, wide with arches that opened the palace to the cool breezes from the sea. 

Prince Doran sat in his gilded chair, looking out towards a garden filled with plants of all manner and every colour Sansa could manage. Margaery openly gasped at the array of flowers still in bloom and Sansa heard Oberyn chuckle at her excitement. The Prince appeared significantly older than his brother and so much smaller as well, more a maester than a prince. 

Beside him stood a fair girl, of Margaery’s age, her tanned skin drinking in the afternoon sun and her dark waves of hair sitting lazily on her shoulders. She wore a light gown of orange and gold silk that hung loosely on her slim frame, highlighting her full chest and wide-set hips. If it weren’t for her wide, dark eyes, Sansa would easily have mistaken her for a woman double her age. 

‘Brother,’ Oberyn stepped forward and greeted his brother with a short bow, ‘and dear Arianne. You look just like Elia-’ his voice trailed off, struck by sudden sadness, and he took a step back to allow the rest to approach. 

‘Prince Doran.’ Sansa stepped forward and dipped herself in a bow, followed by Margaery and Ellaria who only regarded her paramour’s brother with a nod. 

‘Lady Sansa!’ He reached forward and took her hand, bringing it to his mouth briefly. ‘How are you enjoying our climate, it is much different to your Winterfell’s, no?’ 

‘I have not been to Winterfell in many years, my Prince, but I will never forget the cold.’ 

‘Still, we shall feel the cold soon too, they say. Winter _ is _coming after all. This summer has dragged so long I had started believe I would not see another frost in my life.’ 

‘As had I started to believe I would never see my home again.’ 

The Prince was silenced by that and instead turned to the woman beside him, ‘this is my daughter, Arianne. You do not mind if she joins us? I feel my decision today will have long consequences, what better way to prepare her for them?’ 

‘Princess Arianne.’ Sansa bowed her head once more. 

Doran Martell coughed, ‘we did not expect to have you in our company Lady Stark, but of course you are a welcome guest at Sunspear. I can assure you _ we _respect guest rites.’ 

_ Unlike the _ _ Freys _ _ . _Sansa knew what he was trying to say: half of Westeros would trade you to the Lannisters for a bag of coin, but you’ll be safe here. Sansa could only hope that was true. 

‘Oberyn has informed me of the reason for your visit, of course, and I know you’ll want nothing more than to rest your sea legs so if you want to speak tomorro-’ 

‘Now is fine.’ Sansa had thought of little else than this meeting, it could wait no longer. 

‘Of course, my Lady,’ he straightened himself in his chair, ‘my brother tells me you require men. That you are on a mission to reclaim your home and remove the Lannisters from the Iron Throne. Abandoning our favourable relationship with the Lannisters to support your cause is, as I’m sure you’re aware, a great risk to Dorne. I will not endanger my people for a doomed cause... so why should I support you?’ 

_ You shouldn’t. It makes no logical sense for Dorne to declare itself for Winterfell but _ _ Oberyn _ _ brought me here so he must have some hope. _

‘The Lannisters are the greatest threat to Westeros.’ 

‘Is that all? The Lannisters may be a threat to some but we have worked well with them up until now; they even accepted Oberyn into the small council in my place.’ 

‘That is not a kindness, it is a bribe. They give you nice things, a nice place to stay, promises of a nice life so that when they’re cruel to you, they call you ungrateful. If Cersei had her way there would be no council at all. They must appear to be open to collaboration with the rest of Westeros but they will never favour anyone bar themselves when the time comes.’ 

‘Hmm-’ Prince Doran thought a moment, ‘committing men to you would be treason, you understand? What’s to stop the Royal army marching down to Dorne, we’ll have no defences?’ 

Sansa had thought this one through at length, ‘the same reason that we’ll be safe all the way to the North, from the Lannisters at least. With Stannis in the North and this Dragon Queen in the East, Kings Landing is as vulnerable as it's ever been and you’ll be adding a third army into the mix. If Cersei deploys forces to squash Dorne, or any of her other enemies, what’s to stop someone else from plundering Kings Landing while its undefended? If what I learnt while I was there is true, they’ve had the men and store of weapons to defeat Stannis ever since Blackwater but they’ve never used it; I think that’s why.’ 

He nodded his head, his fingers tapping on the arm of his chair. 

‘Have you ever led an army before, Lady Stark.’ 

Sansa stood silent. _ You know well that I haven’t, I’m not sure if anyone in history would have ever commanded one so young. _

‘No, I haven’t.’ 

‘Have you ever studied tactics? Read the histories of the greatest battles to date?’ 

Once again, she didn’t know what else he was expecting except ‘no.’ 

‘And have you ever fought before? Let alone fought in a battle?’ 

‘No, your Highness, I - I was never given the chances my brothers were given. If Robb lived, I have no doubt that he would be leading an army and he’d do a much better job than I can ever dream of, but he’s gone and I’m the only one left to fight for my family. There _ must _be some reason that I haven’t suffered the same fate as every other Stark.’ Her voice cracked but he appeared nonplussed. 

‘I cannot put the fate of my men, and, most importantly, of Dorne, in the hands of an ill-experienced child. I’m sorry, Sansa.’ He looked down, grieved, ‘you are free to stay with us for as long as required. As is Lady Margaery.’ He raised his hand and a guard stepped forward and wheeled him away. 

Sansa watched helplessly as he disappeared indoors, unable to produce any words to express the emptiness she felt inside. 

_ I have fallen at the first test. Failed to convince one man of my worth; how did I expect to command an army? I bet Cersei would revel in this, a cup of wine in one hand whilst she grips the Iron Throne with white knuckles with the other. Do the Gods hate me this much, is this my punishment for murder? Maybe I am forever tainted. _

‘I’m sorry my friend.’ Prince Oberyn moved to follow his brother, ‘he has been reluctant since birth. I thought maybe he’d finally grow some courage yet -’ he trailed off. 

Sansa managed to nod in his direction, then nodded at Ellaria who took Margaery to their rooms, then nodded at the Gods for her luck. 

‘Lady Stark?’ 

Sansa was sure she’d been alone but standing not far away, watching carefully, Princess Arianne remained. She swept over as Sansa met her dark eyes and took her hands in her own. 

‘Dorne will stand for house Stark, I know it. My father has never before even considered mobilising the men against the Lannister but today-’she pressed her lips close to Sansa’s ear and whispered, ‘today he selected five new officers to replace those lost over the years. Those positions have remained vacant for longer than most remember yet this morning he saw them filled.’ 

‘How do you know this? 

She pulled away and her lips spread into a sly grin, ‘he said it himself, I’m his heir. He always says I should keep an eye on what transpires here at Sunspear; I don’t think he realises how observant I can be.’ 

With a final wink, Arianne Martell turned in the direction that the others had left in and Sansa was left truly alone. She took back the scorn she’d had for the Gods, perhaps they were looking over her today. 

Sansa was distracted throughout dinner. She was grateful for the rich foods, especially after the weeks without anything fresh; she feasted on fruits of the last harvest, but she couldn’t help but catch Prince Doran’s eye. Something told her to trust Arianne, she had nothing to gain from giving her false hope, so she was anxious in wait for him to ‘change’ his mind. 

_ I should’ve fought harder. _ After reaching the rooms allocated to her, Sansa had done little but think over their conversation. Perhaps Doran was protecting himself by refusing her initially but if she’d been more passionate, more ambitious, even more desperate, surely then he would have caved ? Yet when he said no, she bowed her head in submission and accepted her fate, a sheep instead of a wolf. Littlefinger’s words danced in her mind- ‘ We can speak again once you become something worth my time’. Would she ever be worth his time? _ At least if I’m not I’ll never have to see his face again, that’s something. _

She watched him sipping some honeyed wine, laughing with some nobles as if he hadn’t damned the North just hours before. Perhaps he didn’t understand that he was her only hope, perhaps she should let him know. 

‘Prince Doran.’ She placed her drink down firmly on the table and rose from her chair, the hall fell silent. Oberyn raised his dark eyes to shoot her a look that told her to be careful but she ignored him and carried on until she stood before him, suddenly aware that she had no plans on what to say. 

‘Lady Stark? If everything alright?’ His expression was cool but there was something behind it, a fire she hadn’t seen the frail Prince show beforehand. 

‘Everything is not alright and it will never be alright if you continue to abandon your duty!’ 

‘Sansa if y-’ 

‘To justice,’ she continued, ‘to the protection of all people, to the responsibilities your position requires from you. You have everything at your disposal to do some good in this world, to bring evil to justice yet you sit in your gold chair in your gold palaces and drink your gold wine as if the world beyond these walls does not exist. All the while people all over Westeros are suffering under the Lannisters and Boltons without anyone to stand up for them, to rid them of the plague that has befallen us. I want nothing more than to protect _ my _people of the North but I do not have the means to do so, so I come to you for your support yet you cower from the truth and continue to hide away here as I’m sure you’ve done for most of your life. Why is it that only your brother seems to want the Lannisters to pay for what they did to Elia and-’ 

‘ENOUGH!’ If Prince Doran could stand, he would have, Sansa knew, but instead he slammed his drink down and raised his finger towards her. ‘My brother helps you escape from Kings Landing, transports you to us and I give you bread and wine and a safe roof under your head yet you turn to me and spit it back in our faces? I have every mind to send you back to Kings Landing where they’ll execute you for your Kingslaying.’ 

‘Go ahead, your highness. It is better than doing nothing here, pretending that the injustices in the world do not exist.’ 

Sansa did not allow him the time to reply as she turned swiftly and marched through the tables and out of the hall, only then flattening herself against the wall to catch her breath. 

_ Fuck me. Did I truly insult a prince then give him permission to deliver me to my death? _

She did not regret what she said, it was how she truly felt, but she wished she’d had a bit more tact and not doomed herself and Margaery too. 

_ Shit, I didn’t think of Margaery. I brought her all the way out here just to get her sent back. Am I really that selfish? _

She wrung her face in her hands and started off back towards her room. She didn’t know why, or what she planned to do but she was beginning to feel the hot stong of tears behind her eyes and she was damned if she let anyone see her cry. 

‘That was quite spectacular, I was waiting for something like that.’ 

‘What?’ Sansa turned to see Prince Doran had been wheeled outside. She quickly wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. 

‘Your outburst in there.’ He turned to the guard who had brought him out, ‘Areo take me to the gardens so that me and Lady Sansa can speak in private.’ 

‘I don’t understand.’ Sansa began when they were alone. They’d brought her to a secluded alcove nestled within a bough of high trees. ‘I shouted at you in front of everybody, humiliated you amongst half of Dorne.’ 

Prince Doran chuckled to himself, ‘you did, didn’t you? Don’t worry, it was nothing I haven’t heard before, mostly from my own daughter as well. Though I’ve never heard with quite as much passion.’ 

Sansa relaxed on the bench, ‘so you aren’t going to have me executed?’ 

‘Of course, not,’ he smiled, ‘wouldn’t do well to kill you just after granting you men and arms.’ 

‘You will?’ 

‘Yes, I made that decision long before you arrived here. In fact, I made it when my brother first wrote to me of your plans. I didn’t mean to upset you, by refusing I mean, but what you are asking is substantial and if I gave it away freely, what would my people think of me?’ 

‘Thank you. I’m sorry for bringing up Elia, it’s not my place, I lost control, I’m not normally-’ 

Prince Doran held up a hand to cut her off, ‘you stood up for your home, your people, I can’t find grievance with that. And as for my sister,’ he paused and plucked at a small purple flower that’s stem hand begun to trail up the bench, ‘I believe she would have agreed with everything you said. As do I. You do not understand how much I wish I could do more to avenge her.’ 

His look grew dark, for a fleeting moment, but long enough for Sansa to catch it. She looked down at the floor before asking, ‘why didn’t you?’ 

‘Prince Doran!’ A young boy appeared from beyond the trees, panting. He was soon followed by the one Doran had called Areo, the blade of his axe glinting in the evening light. 

‘Yes?’ He broke away from Sansa, his brow furrowed in agitation, ‘I was speaking with Lady Stark, go on.’ 

‘Ser Arys Oakeheart has arrived from the Water Gardens. He’s brought the Lady Myrcella and Prince Trystane with him.’ The page pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket, ‘he says for me to give this to you. I don’t know what it says but I’ve never seen a man so angry, even the Princess could not calm his temper.’ 

Doran Martell took hold of the letter, breaking the seal of the Kingsguard and devouring the contents within. His eyes reached the end of the paper yet he continued to stare at it, as if the words were in Dothraki, and his skin took on a ghostly clamour that made Sansa’s stomach turn. 

‘What does he want?’ Sansa asked as innocently as she could, hoping that this was nothing to do with her and that the Prince had grown so pale for some other reason. ‘Why is he here?’ 

Prince Doran turned to her, his dark eyes wide and lips slightly parted as if about to speak. Finally, the words came as he handed her the letter, placing a hand gently on hers. 

‘He’s come for you.’ 


	9. The Final Sunset

‘You don’t have to do this, you know?’ 

Arys Oakheart’s hand on her arm was firm but not painful as he escorted her into Prince Doran’s audience chambers. 

‘I do.’ 

The White Knight was just as Sansa remembered, tall, dark, and surprisingly handsome compared to his Kingsguard peers. Since she last saw him escorting Princess Myrcella to Dorne, he’d grown an equally dark beard, emphasising the sharp lines of his face and his bright, watchful eyes. She remembered him fondly; he’d always been the most reluctant to strike her, and had even questioned an order once to try to save her the beating. Charming and cordial, he always took her arm like she imagined a knight should, instead of hauling her around by the wrist like others had resorted to. Even now wasn’t too different. He walked in step with her, not dragging so she went with him willingly. 

When Sansa had read the letter detailing his arrival and intentions, she knew immediately she had no choice but to speak with him. She was in the perfect position with Prince Doran and was not willing to trade it away to avoid confrontation. 

_ If I leave now, I’ll be sacrificing my army. If I stay, I’ll be _ _ sacrificing _ _ my freedom. _Sansa reminded herself as she knocked on the rooms he had been pacing through. 

He never raised his voice when he levelled his accusations at her. _ Respectful to a fault, _Sansa thought. She had no choice but submit herself to him, given there was no means for her to deny murdering the King. 

_ I left a bloody wolf skin behind, _ she scolded herself, _ what did I expect? _

‘Your Highness.’ Arys addressed the Prince, sticking out plainly from the crowds, sweating in his layers of gleaming white. 

‘It is good to see you again, ser. I thank you for your continued care for my son and his betrothed.’ Prince Doran smiled at the knight but it was not returned. 

‘I have not come here to speak of them. I have come here to apprehend Sansa Stark for the murder of Joffrey Baratheon, King of Westeros, and for stealing away his wife, the Queen Margaery. She has confessed these crimes to me, although asserts that the Queen chose to travel here on her own accord.’ 

‘Her actions are well known to me, and all present if we’re being honest, ser. What do you propose?’ 

Ser Arys bristled, ‘as a knight of the Kingsguard it is my duty to protect the royal family and, failing that, bring justice to those who have endangered them. Sansa Stark and Queen Margaery must be taken back to Kings Landing and there I’m sure there will be discussions of what to do with those that aided in these treasons.’ 

‘Dorne has thrown its support behind Lady Stark’s claim to the North. If justice must be brought it should be _ against _those which you serve, not on their behalf.’ 

Sansa was surprised that Doran Martell had so openly revealed his standing, as was Princess Arianne, whose lips turned in a smug smile. 

‘I do not serve you. Although I have come to enjoy my time here,’ he shot a pained look in what Sansa was sure was Arianne’s direction, ‘but-but I have a duty to the King. If I do not do this, I shall be branded a turncoat in Kings Landing.’ 

‘And if you do, you shall be branded a traitor in Dorne.’ Princess Arianne offered simply. 

‘Joffrey Baratheon was a cruel bastard, unfit for the throne even if he was natural born. But he was not. Surely that makes any oaths or duty based on nothing but deceit.’ Sansa pressed. 

‘It does not matter whether the boy was a bastard. I made holy oaths, to break them would be an insult to the Seven.’ His grip on her arm relaxed, however. 

‘Oaths are broken every day. _ Words are wind _. Jaime Lannister broke his oath to his King when he stabbed him in the back. People may question his honour behind his back but the man’s still commander of your order and people are better off for it. If he’d kept his oath, who knows what madness the world would have fallen into at the hands of Aerys, what I did to Joffrey is no different.’ 

‘Yes, Ser Arys, men break their oaths all the time.’ Princess Arianne raised an eyebrow in his direction and Sansa caught a look between them that drove the knight into silence. 

Behind Sansa, a door swung open and Sansa turned just in time to see a glimpse of blonde hair before it barrelled into her, almost taking her completely off her feet. 

‘Sansa!’ A sweet voice chimed as she wrapped her arms enthusiastically around her, ‘you’re much taller than I remembered.’ 

‘Myrcella?’ The girl pulled away to reveal herself. Sansa had not seen the Lannister Princess since she’d been carted away to Dorne. She could picture her standing on the end of the boat as they pulled into the harbour, smiling and calm whilst Tommen wept over the loss of his sister. Sansa hadn’t shed a tear when she too had been sent away to marry but she wished she’d had the sense to cry for Winterfell, to understand that she wouldn’t be returning for many years. 

Myrcella was no longer the little girl they waved off before riots consumed the city. Her long blonde hair fell in soft ringlets down her back, the front pinned back by golden butterflies in the same style Arianne wore. She wore a gown of light blue, in fabric that hung loosely on her developing frame, a silver band extenuating her waist. She had the features of her mother; large green eyes, high and sharp cheekbones, thin, pink lips, yet they didn’t appear as harsh as they did upon Cersei, complimenting her sweet disposition that the Queen regent lacked. 

‘Prince Doran,’ she pulled away from Sansa and bowed respectively, ‘we have missed you at the water gardens.’ 

‘Dear Myrcella,’ her appearance brought a great smile upon his face and Sansa felt the tension in the room slip away. 

A young man fell into place beside her. He had the tanned skin, dark eyes and fine form of his sister yet Prince Trystane’s dirty blonde hair, sitting in soft waves upon his head made him appear more a Lannister than a Martell. 

Ser Arys had been distracted, giving Sansa the chance to take one more step from him and place her now free hand upon her knife. 

‘You can’t take Sansa back. You promised not to hurt her.’ Myrcella appealed to her protector, flashing her large eyes innocently. 

‘My duty is to your brother, your highness, not to you. I must uphold my oaths.’ Ser Arys turned to look at Princess Arianne but she only returned a cold, short glance. 

‘If you must keep your oaths,’ Sansa paused, ‘then that means you should be protecting Tommen at all costs, no?’ 

‘Yes, of course.’ 

‘Yet Tommen will never be safe on the Iron Throne. Cersei will simply use him for her own ends. Joffrey was old enough to stand his ground but Tommen will be easily manipulated by the courts, and with three armies gathering against him...’ 

‘He’s not suited to be King,’ Myrcella stepped forward, pleading as if this were Tommen’s trial, ‘he told me once that he was glad to be the younger brother, as he wanted to study at the Citadel, not be King. He’s kind and thoughtful and honest-’ 

‘And they’ll tear him to shreds.’ Sansa finished. 

Eyes fell upon Ser Arys, waiting for him to make his decision. He turned slowly to search the expectant faces, his face a painting of conflict. 

‘I will not take Lady Stark back. For Princess Myrcella’s sake, not because I condone her crimes. And...and I will think about what else has been said.’ With that he left and Sansa dropped her hand from her belt. 

_ If it wasn’t for _ _ Myrcella. _Sansa didn’t dare consider what would have happened if the Lannister Princess hadn’t intervened. 

‘You will leave as soon as my men are ready.’ Prince Doran called out, ‘I am sure you are eager to start and, frankly you carry risk around like a crown. My brother Oberyn has requested to continue to accompany you North to act as a commander of the Dornish.’ 

She shot a smile over to Oberyn who nodded towards her, ‘of course, your Highness, without you I would not have ever left Kings Landing. It would be an honour to travel with you again.’ _ And I wouldn’t know where to start leading an army on my own. _

‘It is my pleasure, young wolf. You said it yourself -’for Elia’.’ Several others repeated the words after him and the Prince shot her a wink. 

Her brother Robb had been the Young Wolf, tearing through the Riverlands with Grey Wind like a force of nature, or so she heard. Oberyn had raised his expectations high, even if it was just a throwaway phrase, and everyone around had just bore witness to the setting of the bar she had to reach. As they continued to call out Elia’s name, Sansa said a silent prayer herself – _ for Robb. _

The men took only a few days to organise itself. Sansa had hoped to spend a few more days basking in the sun, for what she supposed would be the last time for a long while. She languished in her feather bed, dreading the bed rolls and tents that would occupy the foreseeable nights, and savoured the fine foods they treated her party with. She envied Margaery; she had escaped her tormenter, travelled to Dorne, lived several days in luxury and would soon be on her way back to Highgarden where she could, eventually, put it all behind her. 

Sansa’s future was not so certain. She spoke with Oberyn each day but it only revealed the myriad of possibilties they could encounter on the journey North. One of her most pressing concerns was how they were going to cross the Trident when speaking to Lord Walder Frey, let alone pleading with him, was so unthinkable. 

She rose on the morning as the sun streamed in through her window, forcing herself to rise instead of turning over and seizing a few more hours of sleep. She’d packed her few belonging, including clothing provided to her, the night before, leaving out her outfit for the day which she quickly slipped into, relived not to have to call anyone to tie her into it as with many of her dresses. Instead she had chosen a pair of woven trousers, tucked into sturdy leather boots. She wore a leather breastplate, gifted to her by Prince Doran, atop a long grey tunic that fell just past her knees. In the Dornish climate, her bare arms and shoulders were nor a cause for concern but, for when the autumn weather caught up with them, she had packed thick shawls, long-sleeved dresses, and the cloak she had brought from Kings Landing. She strapped her belt around her waist and dropped her knife into its sheath before chancing a look in the mirror. 

_ I don’t look like Sansa Stark. _ A stranger looked back at her; a woman of Dorne trained to fight alongside her brothers, a woman who had no fears and never shed a tear. SShe tried to pull the tunic longer to hide the trousers and adjusted the leather armour until it felt natural on her. But no matter how much she twisted, she couldn’t feel comfortable and part of her longed for the solace of a pretty dress and fine jewellery. Cersei had worn armour sometimes but Sansa knew most of the complicated metalwork was simply for show. This was awkward, unflattering and simple, _ but it’ll save me from a stray arrow. _With a sigh, she pulled her meagre belongings together and made to meet with Margaery to head out to the yard. 

They could hear the tumult outside long before they reached the yard. Horses and men dashed backwards and forwards, narrowly avoiding collisions with one another as they hauled their loads. As they watched the men organise themselves, Sansa found herself on the battlements of Winterfell, looking over the yard as her fathers’ men packed her belongings to be pulled by the heavy mares. She spotted Arya below, darting from man to man, intent on getting in everyone’s way. Her father was below too, trying to grab her when she skipped past while directing the combined Baratheon and Stark men into some form of order. When she’d left for Winterfell, she hadn’t thought to say a real farewell to her home. All she thought of was the throne waiting for her one day in Kings Landing. She wouldn’t have to brace against another Northern chill again, or trudge through waist-high snow just to pass through the castle. Catelyn Stark had said some words to her daughter before they left, but try as she might, Sansa couldn’t recall what her mother’s final words to her had been. The thought of her mother still stung so she tried to bring her focus back on the others below but soon the grey and black of Starks and Baratheons shifted into the yellows and reds of the Martells. 

‘What are you going to wear for your coronation?’ Lady Margaery smiled. 

‘Coronation?’ Sansa was caught off guard, ‘I...look...that’s not-’ 

‘Wolf?’ 

It took Sansa several moments to realise the call was directed at her and she turned upon heels. Three women stood before her: all armoured and all staring at her with the same eyes. The first was a big-boned woman, double Sansa’s age and covered with a variety of scars and bruises across her arms and face. Sansa would have easily mistaken her for a man by her size and shapeless clothing, if it weren’t for her light brown braid and long legs. Beside her was a slightly younger woman, a complete juxtaposition except for those eyes. Where the first was mannish, there was no doubt of the middle’s femininity. She reminded Sansa of a portrait; high, defined cheekbones, milk skin, wine-red lips, almost-black hair and a dress of lilac covered by a fine silken cape. The youngest of the trio looked even more out of the place than the two before her, standing out from much of Dorne with her golden hair and eyes of bright sapphire. She wore a simple but elegant dress of samite and lace but there was something in her expression Sansa couldn’t read, something that betrayed her innocuous appearance. 

‘Sandsnakes!’ Margaery gasped, bringing her hands to her face in glee. 

‘Yes, my Lady. We are Obara, Nymeria and Tyene, eldest daughters of Prince Oberyn Martell.’ The first replied with a nod of her head. ‘We heard our father is joining you on your journey North and managed to convince him to let us accompany you as well.’ 

‘What she means is,’ Nymeria grinned, ‘she marched up to him and told him he has no choice.’ 

Tyene laughed, ‘I thought you didn’t need permission from anyone, sister? That’s what you’re always saying.’ Her voice was soft and sweet but her tone dripped with ferocity. 

Obara shot her sisters a dark look before returning to Sansa with a half-smile. ‘We noticed you were, how to say, short in terms of weapons. We supposed you had to leave much behind bar that piece of cutlery at your waist.’ The three laughed together, stopping when Sansa did not join in. 

‘Actually, this is all I have- all I’ve ever had.’ The Sandsnakes stood in silence so Sansa explained. ‘In the North girls aren’t taught to fight with the boys. I’ve never had the need for any weapons beside words and knowledge. I only came about this one just before I left Kings Landing.’ 

‘You-you cannot fight?’ 

‘You were never taught?’ 

‘You’ve never had your own sword?’ 

‘No, it’s really not uncommon. They say we will never need to fight, our fathers, husbands and brothers will do that, so why teach us?’ 

‘You are going to war without ever training to fight?’ 

‘I won’t be fighting, that’s what men are for.’ She gestured to the almost organised courtyard still ringing with noise. 

‘We won’t have it.’ Tyene stepped forward and presented Sansa with a large sack. Inside she grasped hold of a slender, smooth curve of wood and cast the sack aside to reveal the bow. It had been carved from ironbark so its body was a deep grey, near black, and Sansa removed a quiver packed with arrows of matching construction. 

‘These are beautiful.’ Sansa said, tracing a finger down the shaft then pressing the sharp arrowhead gently into her finger. ‘But you know I cannot shoot; I have never tried.’ 

‘Then I will teach you,’ Tyene smiled, ‘the days will feel long as we march and the nights in camp even longer. This will help fill the time.’ 

Next Nymeria stood, and presented her with a black leather sheath. Sansa’s hands were already filled so she pulled it free herself, laying the slim blade against her hand for inspection. The sword was much longer than the knife Tyrion had gifted her, and Sansa worried it would be too heavy for her to lift, let alone wield. It was stunning, however, with a matching Ironbark hilt carved in intricate, weaving patterns. 

‘I can train you with this, I need a good sparring partner and these two know my tricks too well.’ Nymeria’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion which she ended with a short, high laugh. 

‘And I thought you may want to try something different,’ Obara added as she reached behind her and unsheathed a great spear from her back. Once more the shaft was Ironbark but it the tip that caught Sansa’s attention. 

‘It’s obsidian.’ Obara explained offhand, ‘or dragon-glass, if you like. Not the best material for a spear but it can cut through the toughest of beasts.’ 

‘I’ve only been here a few days, how did you come by these beautiful weapons?’ 

‘Our armourer got a batch of ironbark from the free cities some moons ago,’ Nymeria offered, ‘it was rare for him, so he got all excited, told everyone of the fine goods he would be soon showcasing.’ 

‘Unfortunately for him,’ Obara continued, ‘black is not the colour of Dorne. We like to blend in with the dunes or the forests, which is why everyone wears the same sand coloured clothes.’ 

‘Nobody wanted to buy the ironbark weapons, scared to look like a Night’s Watch deserter, so he only made a few and sold them for a petty price to Doran. They’ve been untouched in the armoury ever since but as soon as we saw them, we thought of you.’ Tyene finished. 

‘You bought them off the Prince for me?’ 

‘We _ liberated _them...for you. No one here will miss them but up North they’ll be the envy of Winterfell.’ Nymeria sheathed the sword and wrapped it round her own waist, ‘we’ll put these with your things. See you on the road.’ 

Sansa went to ask them more but they marched away towards the carts. _ Three _ _ Aryas _ _ ? _ Sansa thought to herself, _ I couldn’t handle one. _

Leaning against an archway, Oberyn Martell spied them and held his arms out. 

‘You look like a real Dornish girl, my lady, and I see my daughters have seen you properly outfitted too?’ 

‘Yes, they are most kind.’ 

‘Are they? That’s new.’ He chuckled as he pushed himself forward, ‘we are all but ready to leave it seems, if you find your horses, we’ll set off soon.’ 

Sansa nodded and they followed him towards the front of the assembled train where a team of horses awaited them. Oberyn saw to his own horse, a brown mare he spoke of often, leaving Sansa and Margaery to the remaining mounts. A great Palamino, with a coat of spun gold, tapped the ground gently with a hoof, releasing a huff of air from its nose when Margaery lay her hand on its wide, strong neck. Beside him stood another mare, tall and slender, with a coat of pure black. Sansa brushed her hand along the horse’s firm back before a squire stepped in and fitted the saddle. The blonde struggled as the leather seat was strapped to it but the black remained serene, even as the boy tightened the adjusted it clumsily. 

‘It’s a shame we couldn’t stay longer,’ Margaery said as she was helped onto the saddle, ‘it is not often you get to stay within the same palace as two princesses at once.’ 

The squire returned with a stool and held out his arm to support Sansa upwards. 

‘I’ll be right back!’ Sansa went to pick up her skirts, forgetting they were not there, as she darted back through the men, through the archways and back into the main building. She stopped for a second to catch her breath and collected herself, _ where would she be? _

Sansa was surprised Myrcella hadn’t seen them off and Margaery’s mention of her reminded Sansa of the question she had been meaning to ask ever since she last saw the princess. She knew where Myrcella’s chambers were but found them empty so instead searched the garden, finding them also quiet until she finally caught a glimspe of golden curls through a window. Myrcella was sat with Ser Arys and Prince Trystane at a cyvasse table on a balcony overlooking the harbour. She started when Sansa pushed the door open and stepped outside. 

‘Sansa! How are you? It is strange to see you without some great gown.’ 

‘It is strange indeed. We’re going soon and I wondered if we could talk, before we left.’ Sansa eyed the two men listening intently. 

‘Is it time to go already? The game steals time, I swear it!’ She laughed and made her way to Sansa, calling out behind her, ‘I’ll be back soon; I’ll know if you change my pieces when I’m gone!’ 

Once outside they turned down a corridor and walked slowly, Myrcella’s arm slipped in Sansa’s. 

‘What did you want to say?’ 

‘How long have you been playing cyvasse?’ Sansa asked casually. 

‘Oh, um,’ Myrcella waved her hand, ‘must be some hours now.’ 

‘And yet the pieces remain in their starting position and none have been taken off the board?’ 

Myrcella tightened her grip on Sansa’s arm and swung them into an empty storeroom. 

‘Ser Arys caved, he’s going to help Tommen.’ Myrcella spoke in a hushed tone, ‘we’re going to get him out of King’s Landing but if someone finds out, they may think Prince Doran is involved and-’ 

‘And he’s already risking enough for my sake.’ Sansa finished, ‘you said we?’ 

‘I have to go Sansa, he’s my little brother.’ 

‘That leads me on to what I wanted to ask.’ Sansa braced herself, ‘you don’t seem to care about what I did to your brother, what I plan to do to your mother.’ 

Myrcella dropped her hand and stared at her fingers before looking up with wide, earnest eyes. 

‘My brother was a monster. I know that. I did not wish him dead, but I certainly wished him ill.’ She took Sansa’s hands in her own, ‘you did what was best, like my father did many years ago.’ 

It took Sansa some time to realise she wasn’t talking about King Robert. 

‘And as for my mother,’ she continued, ‘she made Joff that way. I used to think she was smart, elegant, beautiful – a true Queen. But I saw things before I left and I’ve heard such terrible stories. All the tales I used to love spoke of true Kings and Queens with true hearts and true claims to the throne. I know what me and Tommen are, that we have no claim, which means she can’t either. Someone with a real claim must come, or else someone entirely new, but not a Lannister.’ Her large eyes reflected the sadness in her voice. 

‘Myrcella, I’m sorry.’ 

‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for, now go, lead your men. I know we’ll see each-other again.’ 

‘And you’ll have Tommen with you when we do.’ 

Myrcella released her hands and used one to wipe at her cheek. She led them back out of the storeroom and waved as they parted ways until Sansa turned around a corner. 

‘Everything alright?’ Margaery posed as Sansa swung her leg over her horse. 

Oberyn called out an order and the men shrugged into life. 

‘I think so.’ Sansa kept her eyes forward as they passed under the gates of Sunspear and began the slow march North. 


	10. The Fool's Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue taken from 'The Laws of Gods and Men.' and 'The Children' as well as 'A Storm of Swords'

Tyrion forced his teeth through the dry bread. Whilst his mind wandered to thoughts of honey, his stomach groaned in thanks. Just days ago, he’d quite literally feasted with royalty; boar, pheasant, grilled chicken, heaps of vegetables, sweet cakes and pastries followed by enough wine to drown a brothel. Now he savoured stale bread and the single cup of water he was allowed like they were the delicacies of Old Valyria. 

In hadn’t taken Cersei long to cast him to the black dungeons after they found Joffrey. It didn’t matter to her that the Maester confirmed he’d been spiked with a potent sleeping draught and the rose and wolf skin left behind didn’t stop her from letting the blame fall at his feet. When they took him away, he didn’t struggle, partly as he was still drowsy but largely because he knew this fate was unavoidable. 

_ Cersei’s been trying to find ways to get rid of me for years, my sweet wife has delivered it to her on a golden platter. _

Each day was the same as the last, guards woke him early so that they could replace his piss-strained clothes with those fit for court. Then they’d parade him around the Keep, encouraging onlookers to shout and throw whatever they had at hand, until they reached the throne room. The ‘trial’ was a true mockery of justice; his father would sit upon the throne, sneering, whilst Cersei brought out a myriad of servants and high-born nobles and knights to drag his name into the dirt. Each day he tried to defend himself. Each day he failed. 

_ This must be over soon, how much longer can they stretch my _ _ humiliation _ _ out for? _

It had been a week, he was certain, but they seemed no closer to reaching a verdict even though not one person had spoken in his defence. Tyrion had a feeling his sweet sister was saving something, and he filled the nights imagining what fresh terror she could bring before him. 

_ Tysha? _

His whore-wife had come to mind several times in his captivity. Cersei had already brought almost everybody before the courts, what was stopping her bringing the woman he once loved to shame him even further? He tried to imagine what she would look like now; would he even recognise her? He hadn’t seen the woman in years, but he had no doubt Cersei would track her down just to see the lock on his face when she was brought to the stand. 

After the bread came the guards, Tyrion recalled as the sound of footsteps echoing on stone grew louder. The two men, clad in Lannister red and gold, picked his up by the armpits like a child and hauled him up the stairs. Once again, he was left in an empty chamber where clothes had been left draped over a single chair. He changed quickly, glad to be rid of the rags, before a maid-servant entered. She fixed his collar, fussed over his hair and brought a damp cloth to face but Tyrion did not care much for what she was doing, he cared about her eyes, more specifically the fear they drowned in. Nobody had ever feared him before. He’d been a freak to gawk at, the Hand of the King to obey, the Master of Coin to respect, but now he was the Kingslayer to fear, even though he truly wasn’t. 

_ Once again, _ he thought, _ thank you sweet wife for this gift. _

He didn’t hate Sansa, how could he hate her for helping her friend instead the imp she was forced to marry, but he had been certain she cared for him more than to leave him to his death. 

_ I’ve been wrong about women before, why should this one be any different. My curse isn’t being a dwarf, it is trusting women too easily again and again and never seeing my own folly. _

‘How are you feeling, imp?’ One of the guards asked as they fitted his shackles, ‘with only one night left in the black cells.’ 

‘One night?’ 

‘I heard they’re reaching a verdict today.’ The other explained with a tug as they began walking. 

_ One more night in the black cells then a thousand more in black, what is worse? _

The arrangement had been made several days ago for him to take the black. His father was all for seeing his head on a spike but his brother Jaime had made the suggestion that he be sent to the wall. Apparently, his father thought a drawn-out death by freezing was far better than a quick axe to the neck. He was almost looking forward to joining the Night’s Watch, he’d genuinely enjoyed his last trip North, despite the cold. He could piss off the edge of the world again, peruse the many tomes stored at Castle Black and he see the Stark bastard, he was quite fond of that boy, if he was a little stubborn. 

He walked with a bounce his step towards the throne room, uncaring as folk cursed him, tossed things at him, tried to grab at him. Soon he’d be far from all of them, ready to spend the rest of his life in some kind of peace. 

The room fell silent when the great doors were swung open and Tyrion’s elation was lost. 

_ Shae? _

Cersei had done it; she’d exceeded his worst expectations of her and she wore a grand smile to prove it. 

There was nothing he could do but sit and wince as Shae spoke, mixing truths of their relationship with wild lies, each another stab to his gut. As she spoke the image of her as the wilful, sharp camp-follower faded and was replaced by nothing more than another whore. They’d dressed her up as one too; she wore a lilac, nearly completely sheer, gown and was covered in gold and silver from the stones in her hair to jewels on her shoes. _ This is her true form, _ Tyrion accepted, _ another whore whose loyalties can be bought so easily. _

Tysha, Shae and Sansa: what had he done to deserve the fury of women? He never treated them unkindly. He never forced them into anything. He never thought ill of them. Yet they turned on him without thought and left him to the dogs, or to the lions in this case. 

_ I am a lion too, even if these bastards have tried to forget. I will not sit pretty as they slander me into all seven fucking hells at once. _

He didn’t roar, instead he begged. 

‘Please Shae. Don’t.’ 

‘He wanted Lady Sansa but she was disgusted by him. He promised to kill King Joffrey for her.’ 

‘That’s a lie!’ He refused to sit quietly any longer, ‘I dismissed her from my service months ago, how could she know any of this?’ 

‘Be quiet Tyrion.’ Lord Tywin pressed calmly as questions turned back to Shae and she unleashed another tirade of accusations. 

The court fell into chatter as Lord Tywin finally called for a break and Jaime approached him. 

‘Remember, you need to enter a plea for mercy and ask to be sent to the Wall. He’s agreed and its likely your only hope.’ 

Tyrion searched his face sceptically but eventually nodded in agreement. His brother had come through for him, he wouldn’t die. 

‘Well,’ his father began once seated, ‘the judges of the royal court have reached a decision.’ He paused and the crowd waited with bated breath even if the verdict had been set many days ago. ‘Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock has been deemed guilty of the murder of King Joffrey, aiding his wife, the traitor Sansa Stark.’ The crowd erupted in threats and cries but Lord Tywin silenced them as he rose, ‘how do you respond to these charges?’ 

_ I’ll be a good boy, just this once. _

‘I’ll accept them.’ 

The court fell into further tumult until members of the Kingsguard unsheathed their weapons. 

‘But I wish to enter a plea for mercy. I accepted my crimes and will cause no trouble. Send me to the wall.’ 

His father took a seat, ‘that won’t be possible.’ 

‘It is my right to take the black!’ 

‘It is a benevolence of the crown to permit you to take the black.’ His father’s cold voice rang across the hall as Cersei’s face grew impossibly more amused, ‘normally this would be an acceptable option but, given the circumstances of your crime, sending you North is not feasible.’ 

‘You agreed!’ his voice cracked, ‘send me with a guard, they’ll never let me get close to Winterfell.’ 

‘This isn’t about Winterfell or Sansa Stark.’ Cersei piped up, her voice dripping with pleasure, ‘we’ve had word that the pretender Stannis has arrived at Eastwatch and will be heading to Castle Black. Why would we hand one traitor another?’ 

Tyrion struggled against his restraints as he tried to raise his fists in fury, ‘what else then? How else can you show mercy?’ 

‘You still have the option to request a trial by combat; if you can produce a champion of course.’ Mace Tyrell spoke this time. 

Tyrion knew this was an empty offer. Cersei had already made clear that she’d chosen the newly returned Mountain for her champion if required. There was no one in Westeros, accept perhaps Oberyn Martell, who would face Gregor Clegane, let alone defeat him. Tyrion wouldn’t let his own supporter fall at the hands of the Mountain for his sake. 

‘No-’ his voice trailed off, defeated. 

‘Then I see no other choice. I, Lord Tywin of House Lannister, Hand and representative of King Tommen of Westeros sentence you, for the crime of Kingslaying, to death. The execution will be held tomorrow morning, no point in extending this anymore than it already has been.’ 

With that he stood to leave but Tyrion raised his hand to indicate he wanted to speak. 

‘Yes?’ 

‘I’m guilty. Guilty, is that what you want to hear?’ 

‘Tyrion the decision had already been made.’ 

‘On no, I didn’t kill precious Joffrey. I am guilty of a far more montrous crime. I am guilty of being a dwarf.’ He turned to Cersei, ‘I did not kill him but I wish I had, I wish I’d seen your bastard bleed to death in his own bed, that would be the greatest joy in the world.’ 

Cersei went to call him something but he turned from her and addressed the crowd. ‘I wish had killed the whole pack of you, I would gladly give my life to see that.’ 

The crowd erupted once more into cries of ‘kingslayer’ and ‘monster’. 

‘Ser Meryn!’ Tywin Lannister called over the noise, ‘escort the prisoner back to his cell.’ 

He didn’t struggle as he was hauled backwards out of the room; his father stared darkly at him and Tyrion Lannister stared right back. 

‘The fuck are you doing here?’ Brienne of Tarth had been about to change into her small clothes when she heard movement outside of her door. She’d called out but no reply came so she drew her sword and stood beside the door and waited. 

‘Put that away!’ 

When the door had opened, Brienne swung her sword forward, so that it rested at the stranger’s jugular, her feet in position to swing again and not stop. 

‘State your business here.’ She demanded, pressing the cool blade into his neck. He was a greasy man, with dark unkempt hair that fell to his chin and a scruffy beard across his face and neck. His face bore several faded scars and the deep tan of a man who lived on horseback- a sellsword? Or an assassin? ‘Who are you?’ 

‘Ser Bronn,’ he declared proudly, ‘of the Blackwater. Now put that bloody thing away and let’s go.’ 

‘Go? Where.’ Reluctantly, she lowered her arm. 

‘To fucking Valyria, where do you think?’ He took a look around the room and swore under his breath, ‘you didn’t get the message, did you?’ 

‘Message?’ 

‘To get your things together.’ He stepped further inside and found a bag she used to hold her oils and cloths for her sword, ‘this all you got? Good thing I had the good sense to bring you this.’ He swung a larger satchel from his shoulder onto the bed. 

‘Ser Bronn?’ She’d never heard of a Ser Bronn or any plot of escape. ‘Who are you working for?’ 

‘Jaime fucking Lannister these days, it seems,’ he laughed to himself, ‘never thought I’d be saying those words. Right, get your things together, we don’t have forever.’ 

_ Jaime? Why would he help me? _

Brienne began to throw some clothes she had been given into the bag – her own bag would have been enough; she had little to her name. ‘Where’s Jaime? Why didn’t he come himself?’ She strapped the bag shut and began fitting her armour. 

‘He’s got his own business to attend to, so he sent me, his new errand boy.’ 

She chuckled at that, imagining Jaime ordering the knight around like a squire. Bronn stepped forward and helped her strap her breastplate on, she’d fitted the rest but was having difficulty reaching behind her. 

‘You may think it funny,’ he grumbled, pulling it on tight, ‘but I think it’s bollocks. This was my idea yet the bastard’s gonna take all the glory, isn’t he?’ 

‘Your idea?’ She pulled her cloak around herself and swung the satchel over her shoulder. 

‘Well, an idea given to me by a certain lady before she buggered off. Of course, getting you out too really was his idea, but I’m sure he’ll explain it soon.’ 

‘Who else are you getting out?’ 

‘Can’t talk now.’ They made their way down the tower and, with Brienne’s hood raised, they moved swiftly throughout the empty corridors. 

Jaime Lannister stalked towards the black cells. Two guards were posted outside but he knew them to be fools and it was easy to knock one out with the butt of his sword and the other with an elbow to the nose. Tyrion was supposed to take the black, go the wall, and be out of his hair forever. Of course, bloody Stannis Baratheon had to get in the way of his peace. He’d miss his brother, if he went North, but he’d miss him more if he was dead. 

Bronn had come to him several days before with a plan to help Tyrion out of Kings Landing but by then agreements had been made for him to take the black. Still, the arrangements were still made just in case, and Jaime added an extra step, for his own peace of mind. 

_ The Gods know I deserve some. _

‘Tyrion!’ He hissed as he rattled the bars of his brother’s cell. He was curled up in the corner, facing the wall. He called again and the small mass of clothes stirred. 

‘Hmmph?’ 

‘Get up, now!’ Jaime pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door as Tyrion blinked at him. 

‘Jaime? What’re you doing?’ He pushed himself to his feet and moved towards the open door. 

‘What do you think I’m doing? The galley’s waiting in the bay bound for the Free Cities.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘I’ll explain when we get out, feel a lot safer that way.’ 

Jaime led Tyrion past the cells and through an entrance Tyrion had not noticed beforehand nor seen on any plan of the keep. They continued down a long corridor that sloped upwards, under an archway and up several flights of stairs. Beyond that was a sheer drop into darkness that they skirted around until they reached a ladder upwards. 

‘Can you make it up, with your hand I mean?’ 

‘No,’ Jaime admitted, ‘but we’re we’re not heading up. If you went up, you’d fall right into our father’s embrace. There’s a locked door down that corridor that I’ll be waiting behind. Give me time to get there then knock it twice and then twice again.’ 

Tyrion raised an eyebrow at his brother but he might as well have not in the near complete darkness ‘why are you doing this?’ 

‘Would you believe me if I said Bronn asked me to?’ 

‘Not really.’ 

Jaime only smiled and his dark form vanished as he slunk away. 

The trip back down to the cells went quickly as he half ran, knowing Tyrion would reach the door before he would. The door in question was rarely opened and there was a guard that passed by it every night at the same time, checking that it remained shut. They didn’t know it led to the black cells but it was a habit from the early days of the keep that remained strong. Nobody questioned his appearance late at night in the corridors. When he reached the door he nudged his foot against it and waited for the knocking. After a few moments of silence, he knocked himself. 

‘Bloody idiot.’ He huffed as he checked over his shoulder before pulling out a second key and unlocking the door. He took a few steps in but the black corridor was empty and there was no trace of footsteps. He turned back and checked the door over; there were no signs that Tyrion had ever been there and certainly nothing to suggest someone else had intercepted him. 

_ Where else would he have gone, he wouldn’t know where to go without getting lost. _

Then the thought struck him and he cursed himself for not keeping his mouth shut. 

After many boring minutes of awkwardly waiting outside the door, Jaime started forward as he heard two distinct knocks, a pause, and then another two. He jumped at the door and pulled it open, relieved to find his brother intact, except his missing nose. He didn’t ask where he’s been and Tyrion offered no explanation so they walked together in silence, turning one corner, then another before reaching a final door. 

‘Servants’ door.’ Jaime explained as he fished out the final key, ‘used when their quarters were down here before some fire or another moved them upstairs.’ Outside the brisk air caught in Tyrion’s lungs, chilling him immediately but he hardly noticed, he greedily took several steps outside before the door shut behind them and threw his arms out to embrace the outside world. 

‘There you fuckers are- noseless and handless.’ Bronn stepped out of the shadows, his eyes narrowed and hand resting on the sword at his hip. 

‘Did you get-’ Jaime’s question was answered as Brienne moved alongside Bronn and dropped her hood. 

‘What’s happening?’ She asked as her eyes made the connection between Jaime and Tyrion, returning to Jaime, ‘I understand why you’d get him out but why me?’ 

Jaime fumbled in the bags he’d brought until he grasped a bursting pouch. ‘There’s food in here and a few skins of water and wine. Plenty of coin in there too, enough for a horse. Oh and,’ he unsheathed one of the two swords at his belt, ‘this is for you too.’ 

Brienne stood speechless and he handed her the pouch but she raised her brow when he offered the sword, even by the faded light she could recognise the rippled red effect on the blade. ‘This is the King’s sword.’ 

‘Widow’s wail, he called it. You can change the name if you like.’ He pressed it firmly into her hands, ‘we made our vows to Catelyn Stark, use this to fulfil yours.’ 

Her expression still showed her reluctance but she replaced her current sword with the Valyrian steel and passed it to Bronn. 

‘And by freeing me you’re still helping Lady Stark so keeping your side of the bargain?’ Brienne couldn’t help but smile at the thought that he’d bothered to keep his word to Lady Catelyn. ‘And here’s me thinking you have shit for honour?’ 

‘Watch it, wench.’ He tone was stern but, in the darkness, she caught a glint in his eye. 

Oathkeeper.’ She muttered to herself. She met his eyes for a moment, then turned away and hurried into the night. 

‘Well, that was strange.’ Tyrion quipped as the great woman left, turning back to his brother who was still staring at the space where she’d been standing. 

‘Thank you, Bronn.’ Jaime cleared his throat, ‘we should be going, or else the ship will leave without you.’ 

‘Just me?’ he asked as they began walking, ‘take it you won’t be joining me?’ 

Jaime shook his head, ‘no, but you won’t make the journey alone, Varys will meet you on the ship?’ 

‘Varys?’ Tyrion stopped dead, ‘I though you said Free Cities early but I was sure I’d misheard. You have more friends that I thought.’ 

‘Actually, your wife does. Varys was sent here seeking Sansa but she was gone by the time he arrived. Bronn went searching at the harbour a few days ago to find a galley willing to take you North but instead found the Eunuch and everyone’s plans changed.’ 

‘All for me? I’m honoured.’ 

They continued onwards in silence until they reached the harbour through a series of intricate backstreets where they wouldn’t come across any City Watch patrols. 

Jaime stopped and pointed to a large barge bobbing silently on the black water. ‘It’s that one, head up the ramp and enter the first door on you see, Varys will be there.’ 

For a moment Tyrion feared a trap but then again, he was due to be executed on the morrow, who would cart a man out to the harbour just to send him back to his death. 

‘Thank you, brother. For my life.’ 

‘I owed you a debt.’ 

Tyrion cocked his head to the side but Jaime swept his arms toward him to hurry him on his way. Instead Tyrion caught his remaining wrist and pressed, ‘Tell me.’ 

Jaime watched him stride away from him as fast as his legs allowed, not daring to turn to look behind. 

Varys had been sleeping by the time he reached the cabin so Tyrion settled himself in an armchair, unable to entertain the concept of sleep after all that had happened and, all that he’d found out. 

_ Tysha, my Tysha, was never a whore after all. Just a poor woman we rescued in the street. A poor woman doomed to fall in love with me. A poor woman that I watched get raped by so many men I lost count. A poor woman I’ve hated since that day for a crime she didn’t commit. _

He wondered where his first wife had ended up after Lord Tywin had sent him away. If Jaime had told him sooner, he could have pursued her, held her in his arms again, make up for her nightmare, or do his best. She could be anywhere in Westeros, or in fact beyond, by now. She could be dead. Tyrion ground his fists into his forehead and stood to pour himself the first of many cups of wine. 

Sansa swam before his eyes as he fell into a drunken stupor. Did he hate her? When she left him, she thought she was another Shae, faking her affections until they were no longer required. Now, in his visions, she stood in Tysha’s place, lying beside him in their bed at the cottage, squeezing his hand as they stood before the drunk septon, crying as she was seized and hauled away from him. He smacked his palm to his head. _ She’s not like that, she’ll never be like that. _ But she wasn’t Shae either. She was Sansa Stark, rightful Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North, and he _ missed _her. 


	11. The Thorn Amongst Roses

The sword drew a high arc in the air before coming down towards Sansa’s shoulder. She moved to block it with her own blade but she fumbled with her grip and the wood struck her at full force. 

‘Fuck.’ She stumbled away, rubbing the soon-to-be bruise as Nymeria shouted more instructions. She would be more concerned with her injury, if it weren’t the copious others she had picked up after just five days of travel. 

‘You’re terrible at this.’ Obara called from the floor where she sat cross-legged, watching whilst she sharpened her spearhead. 

‘I know.’ 

Nymeria came towards her again, slicing left then right, Sansa blocking both and pushing the Sandsnake off balance with the last. 

‘That was pretty good, quick, but-’ She swung the wooden sword horizontally, stopping before reaching Sansa’s waist, ‘you raise your arms to high and leave your stomach unguarded.’ 

‘A knife in the stomach is death.’ Obara called. 

‘Exactly sister. Again.’ 

They carried on this way for several hours every evening when the army made camp, catching the light before it was lost. Sitting in a saddle all day then enduring sparring with the Sandsnakes until dark left Sansa eager to curl up each night, even if it was on solid ground. She’d never ached more in her life and she swore Oberyn’s daughters were getting far more enjoyment of out beating her than she was learning from them. 

‘Sansa?’ Margaery Tyrell trudged through the grass towards them. 

‘Is it time?’ Sansa stood upright and wiped her brow, the sun was beginning to dip behind the hills. ‘Thank you,’ she called out to the sandsnakes as they made their way back to the camp, ‘I’ll be back tomorrow morning.’ 

‘So,’ Margaery raised an eyebrow, ‘are you a master warrior yet?’ 

‘Not quite.’ 

‘Well, not to matter, you won’t need swords at Highgarden. Although I wouldn’t leave your knife behind, my Grandmother’s tongue isn’t the sharpest tool in the Reach. 

When they made camp yesterday evening close to Highgarden, a squire of Ser Garlan’s had been sent down to treat with them and arrange for Margaery to be escorted home. When the squire and escort arrived however, Margaery begged them to let her remain for one more day and entertain Sansa the following evening. Sansa didn’t mind delaying for one more day, gave her more time to ponder over maps with Oberyn and get beaten by his daughters. 

Sansa discarded her weapons when they reached her tent and changed into a gown more fitting to meet with the Tyrells. A few days before she’d left Kings Landing, she’d had Ellaria smuggle some of her clothes onto the barge so she wasn’t stuck in trousers forever. It was relief to slip into the peach dress, embroidered with golden thread and cinched at the waist. This dress had been a gift from Cersei, after she destroyed most her own wardrobe yet it was too fine to leave behind, even in spite. She’d forgotten how tight her corset was and, briefly, longed for the utility of her riding garments. Margaery tied her dress together and they braided each-other’s hair in lieu of the maidservants who would normally be present. Oberyn had offered to bring several along for them but Sansa refused, they were not incapable of looking after themselves and more maid-servants just meant more mouths to feed and more lives at risk. 

It took then longer than usual to ready themselves but they emerged from the tent, sticking out from the horses and men trudging through the mud, in their finery. The squire and escort had remained in the camp for the night and was waiting nearby and, upon seeing him, he rose and directed his men forward. 

‘Lady Margaery, Lady Sansa.’ He greeted them with a bow of the head, ‘are you ready to head up?’ 

Margaery nodded, handing one of the Tyrell men her small bag of belongings. 

‘Will anyone be accompanying you to Highgarden Lady Stark?’ 

‘No.’ Sansa had considered who she could bring with her and found her only real option was Oberyn. His relationship with the Reach was already far too strained; she was safer alone. 

_ Not completely alone, _she reminded herself. 

The trip up to Highgarden was fairly short, and up against her recent extended sessions in the saddle, Sansa barely noticed the time between them leaving and arriving at the gates of the castle. For a castle not far from Dorne, Sansa had never seen two buildings more different than Sunspear and Highgarden. Just to reach the great white palace, they had to ride through acres of garden and hedges and then, when they reached the first gate, they still had to ride through two more levels in order pass through its walls. On the second ring, they passed through an intricate labyrinth; Sansa supposed it was planted there to slow invaders and she was glad that their guides knew the path through. Where Sunspear was constructed from sandstone and clay, Highgarden was nothing but white: every wall, fountain and courtyard shone brilliantly, even in the evening sun. 

When they reached the ivy walls of the keep, they dismounted and were led through pristine halls and yards until they reached the back of the building where the gardens stretched out beyond where the eyes could see. The escort slowed and the squire turned to address them. 

‘The Lady Olenna Tyrell awaits you in the Rose Garden. The rest of your family in Highgarden were also summoned.’ 

Margaery took Sansa by the arm and they slowly passed through the gardens, Margaery pointing out her favourite flowers and speaking with several Westerners they passed. 

‘Are you ready?’ They’d stopped before a wrought iron archway, voices sounding beyond. 

‘I think so.’ Sansa assured. 

‘For my grandmother, I mean. She flourishes among the flowers.’ 

‘Ah, I’m not so certain about her.’ Sansa grinned. 

‘You’ll be fine. Just don’t talk about any of the things she will inevitably want to talk about.’ 

They both laughed and walked in step with one another into the roses. In the centre of the red sea of flowers, a table had been erected, Olenna Tyrell seated at the centre, picking at a plate of cheeses. Beside her stood two men; Sansa immediately recognised Ser Garlan and guessed the other to be heir to Highgarden, Willas Tyrell, by the stick he leant upon and the brace on his leg. 

Willas wore a great smile and was the first to step around the table to greet them. Sansa wasn’t sure what she had expected from the young, crippled Tyrell that she had once hoped to wed but she was pleasantly surprised. Like the rest of his kin, he was handsome and well built, with thick brown hair cut short and a small, cleanly cut beard. He worse fine emerald samite embellished with the gold roses of his family and a cape of deeper, forest green rested on one shoulder. She had never heard a bad word against Lord Willas, he was studious and, as Margaery had informed her, one of the best hawkers in the reach. He embraced his sister with the arm not supporting his leg and placed a hand gently upon her cheek. 

‘We feared we wouldn’t see you here again, little sister.’ He turned to Sansa, ‘Highgarden is forever grateful for what you have done for our sister, Lady Stark. We are in your debt.’ He bowed to her and she nodded her head respectfully. 

Ser Garlan approached next, pulling his sister close against himself so hard he nearly brought her down upon him, leaving them both in fits of giggles. ‘I was ready to ride from Brightwater back to King’s Landing when I received Willas’ letter informing me of your grand escape.’ He mussed her hair and Margaery batted away his hand, berating him for messing up her braids. 

_ It’s like Jon and Arya are standing before me. But instead of a wilful, beastly child and a bastard, it’s a King’s beloved widow and one of the most respected knights in the realm. _

Behind Garlan a dainty woman in a dress of apple red beamed, ‘it’s so good to see you again, Queen- I mean, Lady Margaery. My Garlan has told much about your beauty and wit. And, of course, you too Lady Sansa, although I’ve only seen you briefly, the tales we’ve heard of your ordeals have brought much sympathy from Brightwater.’ 

Sansa remembered where she recognised her from, Lady Leonette of house Fossoway had been in the Maidenvault when she’d dined with Margaery and had sat beside her at Margaery and Joffery’s wedding feast. ‘Lady Leonette, it is good to see you too, and I’m grateful for your consideration.’ 

_ If only sympathy had freed me, _she thought cynically. 

‘Enough of that.’ Lady Olenna called out, remaining seated, ‘come to me Margaery and let me look at you.’ Margaery obeyed and the old women took her hands, moving her from side to side in her inspection. 

Satisfied, Olenna’s eyes fell upon Sansa, hovering before the table. ‘Do you expect thanks from me, child? Well you shan’t be getting any. These fools act as if you’ve been actually defending our Margaery, have you?’ 

‘Not physically, my Lady, but we didn’t face any trouble on the road.’ 

‘And if you had? Would you have fended off bandits or assassins yourself?’ 

Sansa felt the knife pressed against her hip, aware of how small it was against the longsword Ser Garlan had strapped to his back. 

‘Have you lost your tongue? I’ll take your silence as a no, then. If only you were your brother, we heard such tales of him. Shame-’ 

Sansa clenched her teeth together to stop herself from speaking. Lady Olenna thought her weak and foolish and an outburst might prove her point. 

‘I will try to do my best to honour Robb,’ she conceded, ‘I know am I not worthy of him but I am the only one left to pick up where he left off.’ 

Lady Olenna closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. After a lingering silence, she turned to Margaery, mumbled something to her and returned her gaze to Sansa. ‘It seems you are to join us this evening. I’m sure I will see you then but, if I don’t, get going quickly in the morning. You have a long journey ahead of you and I don’t want you around here longer than you need to be.’ 

‘You’re lying.’ 

The assembled Tyrells shot her warning looks and the Queen of Thorns sat backwards in her chair, ‘what are you blathering about, girl?’ 

‘You act like you don’t want me here, like I’m the worst person in the realm yet you invite me to Highgarden, share meat and mead, give me a bed for the night.’ 

‘Those arrangements were made between you and whoever collected you, why would I bother myself with such petty details.’ Olenna shook her hands is dismissal but Sansa remained and pressed on. 

‘I think you certainly would bother yourself with me. I killed Joffrey, in cold blood. I murdered your King in his bed, making me a Kingslayer, and I am currently leading an army with the intention of removing the Lannisters from power. Anybody who hated me as much as you claim to wouldn’t make such a statement of giving me shelter. If I was an enemy to you, wouldn’t it make more sense to publicly reject me in from of the nobles of the Reach, instead of holding an audience with only your closest family. Am I wrong?’ From the corner of her eye, Sansa caught Margaery smile. 

Lady Olenna hesitated, ‘you assume too much, and think too highly of yourself.’ 

‘Maybe, but sometimes I’m right.’ 

Lady Olenna Tyrell went to speak but instead shook her head and mumbled beneath her breath. Rising, she took Margaery’s arm and led her back towards the main keep, talking in hushed tones as they left. Ser Garland and Lady Leonette fell into place behind. Lord Willas didn’t follow his kin, but remained among the roses with Sansa. 

‘I have something I must show you.’ He explained as he held her arm out to her. She shot him a confused look but he only laughed gently so she took it and let him lead her away from the suffocating stench of roses. 

‘It is a shame you cannot take our men too. If I could, I would.’ He began. 

Sansa searched the gardens around them for listening ears but he met her eyes to put her at ease. ‘My grandmother may appear to know all that happens with these walls but I have learnt how to keep things from her.’ 

‘There were people here before, where did they go?’ 

Willas only smirked and they continued, ‘my father remains the true Lord of Highgarden, even if I have taken up his role in his long absence. If I called the men to your cause, some would go, that I am certain of, but others would be reluctant in case he returned.’ 

‘Not reluctant to join a treasonous rebellion?’ They passed a patch of pure white orchids. 

‘The Lannisters have never been popular in the Reach, especially for Tyrells.’ 

‘But why? They’ve never insulted your family. The Reach and Lannisport have always have favourable relations.’ 

They stopped before a tall lattice fence, covered in climbing ivy that disguised whatever lay beyond. 

‘Have you heard the tale of Castamere and House Reyne?’ 

‘The Reynes grew powerful and tried to overwhelm the Lannisters. Tywin Lannister buried them in their mines and flooded them.’ 

‘Highgarden has had a number of bountiful harvests and we lack a kingdom to fund. If what they say is true, the Casterly Rock mines are running dry and the crown remains in deep debt to half of Westeros and beyond. If we continue at this rate, we’ll overtake the Lannisters in a matter of years, perhaps less.’ He glanced at the keep in the distance behind them, ‘we’re dancing on a volcano, keeping good relations with them. One day, Cersei Lannister will turn our peace to flames and who can know what she’ll do. Supporting you prevents anymore unnecessary suffering. At least we don’t have to expect Tywin Lannister’s vengeance anymore.’ 

Sansa met his eyes, ‘why not?’ 

‘Haven’t you heard?’ He opened his eyes wide in disbelief, ‘Tywin Lannister is dead. They found him on the privy with a crossbow bolt in his bowels. Nasty business. There was a dead whore in his bed too, so I hear.’ 

_ Tyrion- _

‘Your Lannister husband pulled the trigger, well, that’s what most assume after he escaped’ Willas continued. 

_ Why wasn’t this the first thing anybody told me? _

‘Escaped? Is there anymore news? Who helped him? Where did he go?’ 

‘I believe you’ll find the answers to your questions in there,’ he gestured to the fenced area and pushed a gate open, ‘I’ll see you at dinner this evening, Lady Stark.’ He bowed and left. 

At the sound of her name, Sansa could hear a clattering of armour beyond the fence and a voice telling another to be quiet. For a moment she’d hoped that Lord Willas was suggesting Tyrion was waiting for her but neither voice belonged to him. 

_ I doused his wine, killed his nephew and abandoned him to the whim of his family, why in seven hells would he come to see me? _

Instead, in full silver plate armour, beside her helm, Brienne of Tarth was stood before her, her round face flushed and her hair straw hair plastered to her forehead. On the bench sat the scrawny squire that had followed Tyrion around in Kings Landing. He clutched at his forearm and was resting his ankle on the bench before him. From his panting and the discarded swords nearby, Sansa guessed they’d been sparring, and that Pod had lost. 

‘Lady Stark!’ She bowed her head and went to kneel but Sansa held out a hand to stop her. 

‘Please, Brienne, just Sansa.’ 

‘Of course. How are you? How was the trip from Dorne?’ Brienne took a seat back on the bench and Sansa sat beside her. 

‘Never mind about me, what are you doing here? Last time I knew of you, you were still stuck in that tower. I wanted to get you out too when I left but we were already stretching it getting Margaery out.’ 

‘My lady, it is my duty to protect you, not the other way round. Believe that I have no quarrel with you trying to save yourself.’ She drew her sword and placed it on her lap. In the afternoon light, the sun caught red blade and oranges, pinks and browns danced around it. Sansa recognised the sword instantly, as if she were back in King Landing, watching Joffrey wave it around and call to the crowd for names. 

‘Widow’s wail?’ 

‘Oathkeeper, now. I’ve made oaths to you and your mother to keep you safe, and with this sword I will do it.’ She sheathed it again. 

‘I was under the impression Ser Jaime had been given Joffrey’s sword, how did you come into possession of it?’ 

‘Jaime gave it to me. He and some sellsword were the ones to break myself and your Lord husband from the Red Keep. He made his oaths too. To ensure you were sent back North and never raise arms against Stark or Tully forces.’ 

_ Bronn, _ she realised, _ he must have heeded my advice and got Jaime involved too. _

‘So it’s true, Tyrion escaped too,’ she paused, ‘and he killed Tywin?’ 

‘Him and Jaime were late getting out to us, so it seems so. I don’t know where they went after that, I’m sorry.’ 

Sansa reached out a took the woman’s great hands, ‘you have nothing to be sorry for. You do not know how much of a relief it is to see you and hear this news. To know I have someone I can trust coming North with me.’ Sansa smirked, ‘and I’m dying to hear why the great, oh-so obsessed with his twin, Jaime Lannister, has a soft spot for Brienne of Tarth.’ 

‘We respect eachother.’ She replied curtly, the glow of her cheeks betraying her. 

Sansa knew she wouldn’t get more out of her so she turned to Pod who was practising loading arrows from his quiver on his back into his bow quickly. He was not yet deft enough and dropped nearly every one he tried. ‘And you, Podrick? How did you find yourself here?’ 

The squire looked up and set the bow aside, ‘well... with yourself and Lord Tyrion gone, I found myself with no one left to serve. All the other squires were ten years my junior so I couldn’t go to them for work. I knew the Lannisters would never let someone close to the two of you any higher. They were sniffing around me too; serving girls started asking strange question and a maester I requested to look at a twisted wrist only spoke of the terrors of rebellion and the glory of the Lannisters. When news spread of my Lord’s escape, I decided it was time I went too but I had nowhere to go to. I thought of finding you Lady Stark, but I had no clue where you’d be so-.’ 

‘That’s a good point, Lady Brienne, how did you know I’d come to Highgarden?’ Sansa interrupted Pod. 

‘I couldn’t know for certain. I knew you must’ve made for Dorne and that you had the Tyrell Queen with you. If she went with you willingly, it makes sense to drop her home on the way North and, if she was your captive, it would make sense to stop her to ransom her.’ 

‘And, do you think I coerced Lady Margaery into coming with me?’ 

Brienne hestitated for a moment before turning resolute, ‘no, I don’t think you did. I can’t imagine life was comfortable for her with that boy.’ 

‘It was the furthest from comfortable you can go.’ _ Let’s hope she remains comfortable here, and isn’t carted off to marry someone new. _ ‘Come on then Pod, finish your tale.’ 

‘Hm? Oh yes. I’m sure I don’t need to tell a master of whispers that you hear all kind of things around the Red Keep, when nobody notices you there. People didn’t pay me much attention bar those that knew me and I didn’t talk enough to strangers to make myself known. They’d say all number of things I probably shouldn’t have heard. Mind you, I never heard anything really shocking, but I did hear about a ‘big woman’ in one of the tower cells that Ser Jaime brought back.’ 

‘That brought Ser Jaime back, you mean.’ Lady Brienne corrected, straightening her posture. 

‘Aye, sorry m’lady. I heard all many rumors and stories about you dancing with a bear but I also heard that you’d been with Lord Renly until he died then you’d gone with Lady Catelyn Stark and that you were planning on exchanging Jaime for her daughters. I just supposed that you might be going towards Sansa Stark so decided I’d take the risk and follow you.’ 

‘Now that that’s all cleared up, should we head to dinner?’ Brienne began to stand but Sansa was still staring at Pod. 

‘How did you know where to go after Brienne if you didn’t know where I’d be like she did. Brienne left the night before you left the Keep, who would have seen her go to lead you in the right direction?’ 

‘You really don’t need to know that, my Lady, it’s not important.’ Brienne crept towards the gate and placed her hand on it. 

‘Go on, Pod, I’d like to know.’ 

‘Whores.’ 

Brienne cursed him her breath and stepped outside. 

He continued, ‘I went to some brothels near the different gates she could’ve ridden through the night before to see if anyone saw anything. Being larger, people are more likely to remember her. But it was a brothel a little way away from any gate that I found what I needed to know. They told me Brienne had stopped by the night before seeking a strong horse that would make it to Highgarden without needing too many breaks. The reason they were sure it had been Brienne as I described her was because -’ 

‘Right come on, that’s enough of that.’ Brienne had stormed back in and grabbed the squire by his arm, hauling him out. 

‘They thought she was a man!’ Pod managed to huff out as she dragged him away, ‘they thought she meant she wanted a ‘mount’ when she said she wanted a horse and tried to sell her a whore. Safe to say they were surprised when she took off her finally took of her helm.’ Sansa burst into laughter as she followed them towards the palace and Pod joined in, his mirth only fuelled by Brienne’s grumbling. 

The next morning, she was dressed and breaking her fast before the sun had fully risen. _ I will not stay here any longer than I need to, I mislike these rose-scented halls. _Dinner had provided no comfort; the Tyrells had smiled and conversed and shown her great pity, but there was no mistaking the look of malice painted on Olenna Tyrell’s face. 

She hadn’t stayed long after their food was cleared away, thanking Willas and excusing herself for an early night’s rest. If it wasn’t for Brienne in the room next door, Sansa wasn’t she that she’d be able to sleep that night, _ a knife in the stomach would be the easiest way to get rid of me while I slept, I should know- _

When Brienne fetched her to leave, she had been ready several hours, restlessly darting from the bed throughout the room as she waited, pursuing the bookshelves and practising with her knife. Pod joined them in the yard where he’d readied their horses, alongside an escort of one hedge knight to lead them back through the hedge maze. The yard was empty besides some stable-boys and a wainwright on a stool; Sansa had hoped that at least Margaery would have come to see her off, perhaps even one of her brothers. 

‘Are you ready to head back, my Lady? Prince Oberyn will be eager to get moving.’ Lady Brienne and Pod were already on their horses. 

Sansa took a look around the empty space and sighed, ‘yes, let’s go.’ 

‘From a distance I thought you were coming back with a Clegane.’ Prince Oberyn greeted them in the fields where the camp had been. He turned to Podrick, ‘and a young girl.’ 

‘This is Lady Brienne of Tarth, my sworn shield. And with her Podrick Payne who has taken up the mantle of her squire.’ Sansa dismounted, glad to see that her tent remained whilst the others had been packed away. ‘I shall be ready shortly.’ She stepped inside and began changing back into her riding gear. She’d gotten quite used to fiddling with the buttons on her own and, with some fumbling, she was back in the Dornish garb, signalling some lingering men to help her take the tent down. 

A clattering of hooves from the direction they’d came brought the small company to attention, Sansa reaching for her knife whilst Oberyn and Brienne unsheathed their swords. From their vantage point atop of hill, the source of the noise had vanished below the peak but it was growing louder and somehow more frantic as it closed in. 

The horse reached the top of the hill, its rider hooded and half off the saddle. _ Not half off, _ Sansa realised _ , but riding sideways. _Eventually they came to a halt before ploughing straight into Sansa’s small, assembled guard and the rider pushed herself off and, with a slight wobble, made her way toward them. 

‘Margaery?’ Sansa knew her friend before she slipped her hood off by the strands of perfect brown waves peeking out from under her cloak. As she revealed herself, weapons were dropped and Sansa pushed beyond Brienne and Oberyn. ‘What are you doing here?’ 

‘I’m coming with you.’ 


	12. The First Steps

It took half a day’s ride for them to come after her- not Sansa, Margaery. Since her flight from Highgarden, they’d expected to be ridden down by a full Tyrell brigade, sent to recover their delicate flower. The rider in pursuit of them, however, was on his own, and had many bulging bags strapped to his saddle. 

‘Is this a game to you, Margaery?’ Ser Garlan directed his horse towards his sister. ‘We had a deal.’ 

‘It is a bit of a game though, we took bets to see how long it would take you to notice I’d left. I would’ve won if you hadn’t stop to pack your bags, I’m sure.’ 

He turned his head to Sansa who could only grin at her success against Margaery. At first, when the daughter of Mace Tyrell approached her, Sansa assumed she had fled of her own accord. Margaery then explained, while she changed into something she could ride in, that her, Ser Garland and Lord Willas had spoken for many hours about what to do. Eventually it was decided that even if Willas couldn’t sent men to fight in the North, that didn’t stop his siblings from absconding by themselves. They were supposed to leave together but Margaery had been eager to leave and set off early to catch up with them sooner. 

‘I couldn’t stay up there a minute longer,’ Margaery continued, ‘grandmother had already spoke of remarriage eight times, Garlan. Eight times!’ 

The young knight sighed and continued beside them. 

‘Was your Lady wife content with you heading off to war?’ Sansa queried. 

‘Leonette? She practically begged me to leave. Not that she wants rid of me. Just feels strongly about your cause. I think she just likes the idea of a woman leading a rebellion,’ he paused, ‘not that I think there’s anything wrong with that.’ 

Sansa only smiled, her mind was on other matters, namely, Walder Frey. 

‘Anything?’ 

His sister stood before him, tall and regal, even in mourning. She was draped in head to toe in black velvet yet the dress still emphasised her shapely curves and breasts. 

‘Nothing.’ He’d sent men into the dark corridors discovered in the black cells but had not bothered delving into them himself. He knew they’d find nothing; he’d made sure of it. 

‘I told father there was no use in delaying. We should have had his head off right there before the court. And now-’ Cersei finished her sentence in an exaggerated sob and put a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘And now the little imp has taken our great father from us as well as our son.’ 

Jaime looked around, no one was paying them much attention yet still he shot her a warning look. 

‘Oh please, Jaime.’ She drawled, ‘nobody cares about that business anymore.’ 

‘That ‘business’ could still see us all executed.’ He lowered his voice but she paid him no mind, floating towards her desk in the tower of the Hand which she had quickly claimed for herself. 

‘Good thing you won’t be around, isn’t it?’ 

‘You’re sending me away? Are you sure that’s a good idea, considering last time?’ He held up his missing hand and she clenched her jaw in revulsion. ‘Where am I to go? Riverrun?’ The Freys had been putting the castle to siege for many months but the old Blackfish was holding on by a thread. All knew their stockpiles were large and the Freys had little to bargain with. 

‘No. I don’t care about Riverrun.’ 

_ She wants me to go to Dorne for _ _ Myrcella _ _ . I may enjoy that. _

‘I want you, no need you, to find Sansa Stark and bring me her head.’ She passed him a signed piece of parchment. ‘A warrant for her execution, if anyone asks.’ 

‘I’m no cat’s paw, Cersei.’ 

‘I cannot trust anyone else with this. Take that dirty sellsword with you too. I despise seeing him in the keep.’ She moved to leave. 

‘Wouldn’t you prefer her back alive. Then you can do with her as you wish?’ 

‘I dream of seeing the life drain from her. I want her to feel the pain she inflicted upon our boy a thousand times over. But it’s not safe to bring her back. She has too many sympathisers. Kill her and bring me her head, that’ll have to serve.’ She grasped his hands but her eyes held no warmth, only command. 

_ Could I kill Sansa Stark? She killed my son. My son was a little shit. _

‘When will I leave?’ 

‘Today or tomorrow. As soon as you can. She rode past us a few days past and the Dornish are making good progress. If you ride hard you should meet her before she passes the Trident.’ 

_ She doesn’t just want Bronn gone, she wants me far away too. _

‘What of Myrcella? The Dornish have shown their support for the Starks, surely she isn’t safe with them anymore.’ 

‘Hmm?’ Cersei pretended to shuffle some papers, ‘I’ll see to that, don’t worry.’ 

Jaime wasn’t convinced but he smiled, nodded and left her alone. A strange coldness fell over him. _ She cares more for revenge for her dead son than the safety of her living daughter. And, of course, she’s only using Tommen for his crown. I’ve lost her. _

After passing through the Reach, the Dornish army gave Casterly Rock a wide berth, preferring to make their way directly through the centre of Westeros. Sansa wished for the ease and simplicity of the Kings Road that lead directly from King’s Landing all the way to Castle Black but it passed too close to Harrenhall, whose current inhabitants no one was quite certain of. The cursed ruin had passed so many hands during the war, it was best to keep a fair distance, especially if Roose Bolton’s men remained. Their only hope was to cross the River Road between Riverrun and Harrenhall, waving a peace banner for the Freys still camped outside of her Uncle’s rightful seat. 

Sansa cursed the Freys for their persistence in the Riverlands. The Blackfish would welcome them, she was certain, if he wasn’t under siege. He’d have a feather bed for her too, even if only for a few days. 

_ When we’re passed the _ _ Riverlands _ _ , I’ll be back in the North. _Sansa dreamt often of snow and the chill in the air that was ever present in Winterfell. Sometimes she had strange dreams of her home. Once she watched a sword of pure fire swing through the Godswood. She wished it wasn’t so damn dark then she may have caught a glimpse of its owner but the shimmering flames overwhelmed all else. 

The camp outside of Riverrun stretched farther than they expected, and it wasn’t long before Frey banners approached them on horseback. Sansa pulled on Empress’ reins to slow to a halt, Brienne and Ser Garlan dropping in beside her with Prince Doran and Margaery close behind. 

Sansa decided Empress was a fitting name for the great black mare she’d been gifted by the Dornish. Once, the Great Empire of the Dawn had been ruled by Emperors and Empresses, each more glorious than the last. Sansa had enjoyed their stories the most, even if the boys preferred the stories of Westeros. When she was very young, she’d pictured herself as an Empress one day. 

‘State your business here.’ One Frey announced, he wore the ragged clothes of war and the weasel-like appearance of his family. 

‘This is Lady Sansa of House Stark, Wardeness of the North. We are just passing through these lands and mean you no trouble.’ Lady Brienne gestured to the white banners they carried. 

‘Lord Bolton is Warden of the North.’ The other Frey watched Sansa with narrow eyes, ‘Lord Walder wouldn’t be happy with your sort in his lands.’ 

_ His lands! _ Sansa bristled, _ my uncle _ _ Edmure _ _ is the rightful Lord _ _ Paramont _ _ of the Trident, not the Late Walder Frey. _She held her tongue. 

‘We’re on our way to treat with your liege Lord.’ She almost choked on her words, ‘but our business is in the North not here.’ 

‘We got your uncle, Wolf, don’t you want to come fetch him. That would be the noble thing.’ One grimaced. 

‘A fish in a pup’s mouth!’ They both burst out in laughter but their audience did not share in the joke. 

‘It is not my place to fight my Uncle’s battles. I am just a young girl and I know little of warfare.’ Sansa adjusted herself on the saddle impatiently, ‘may we pass?’ 

The two weasels looked at one another with raised brows. At last one turned and wide grin painted across his thin features, ‘fine, if you swear not to intervene in our business here.’ 

‘I swear it.’ 

‘You can have a Frey escort. Just to be sure.’ Sansa nodded at him and he turned away, barking orders to several of his riders to fetch his kin back. 

While they awaited the Freys’ arrival, the men made camp and Sansa took the opportunity to speak with Oberyn and Garlan. 

‘I want him dead. My family deserve justice. It makes me sick to think of him ruling over the Riverlands in my uncle’s place.’ 

‘They have your uncle, Sansa. There is little we can do on that front without breaking the oath you just swore.’ Ser Garlan sat with his sword across his lap. 

‘I know. But I also know he will make me agree to a ridiculous deal just to pass through his towers. How can I even begin to trust him?’ 

‘I say we take the Twins. Most of his men are here. Then you can capture the old bastard and we’ll show him your justice.’ Prince Oberyn smiled, leaning on the hilt of his blade. 

Lady Brienne was stood at the door of the command tent, ‘is there no way to avoid him altogether? After what he did to your brother and Lady Catelyn, I wouldn’t go to him so willingly.’ 

Sansa collapsed onto a seat and closed her eyes. Lord Walder Frey watched her in the darkness, awaiting her next moves, ready to seize the opportunity she presented. 

‘We’ve already been delayed months by the diversions to avoid Lannister forces. And the North is greater that all the other Kingdoms combined. As much as I’d love to avoid the Twins altogether, attempting to lead these men around them would put us back even longer. There’s not anothing cross for a hundred miles in either direction. Winter would have set in by the time we reach Winterfell; if that happens, we’ll be at a far greater disadvantage.’ 

None of them had any more to say so she lifted herself from her chair and emerged back into the camp. They’d only set up a few tents, awaiting the Frey envoy’s arrival, so many men lingered around, sitting, talking, several drinking. In her Dornish outfit, few noticed her as she made her way between them. There was something calming about an army at peace; brothers in arms relaxing together, the smell of meat cooking wafting from the mess tents, the atmosphere that lacked any hint of fear or dread. She could almost ignore it in her gut, as she sat herself on an empty patch of grass, untying the laces of her boots, removing her socks and stretching out her bare feet on the slightly damp ground. 

She knew the Sandsnakes would be happy to train her in these hours of freedom but Sansa chose to avoid them and watch the men, her men, for a while. There was an odd chink of metal upon metal as men sparred together and some camp-followers had taken to sing songs of battle to the soldiers for ‘good luck’, although Sansa knew they were truly looking for coin or a romance with a Dornish stranger. As much as she attempted to drown out her thoughts with the sounds of the camp, they had a knack of sneaking through as soon as her mind began to wander. She soon found herself thinking through what her far more experienced advisors had told her. 

‘Sansa?’ Lady Margaery swooped down beside her and folded her legs underneath herself. Even in men’s clothes in the beige of Dorne, she was as graceful and regal as when she wore gowns embellished with golds and silvers. Sansa had been unable to achieve such levels of beauty in the circumstances. She had enough energy in the morning to pull her hair up in a bun but her handiwork was rushed and by the end of the day she’d be spitting stray strands out as they tumbled at her shoulders. She’d seized every opportunity to bathe when they’d come across lakes and pools yet the stink of horses and sweat followed her around like a loyal dog; at least everyone shared the same stench. She realised she hadn’t responded to Margaery. 

‘Sorry, I was just thinking.’ 

‘About the Twins?’ Margaery copied Sansa and removed her shoes. 

‘Aye. Your brother wants me to go peacefully whilst Prince Doran would have us seize the towers.’ 

‘Neither is ideal.’ Margaery summed up as leant backwards. She appeared to be trying to take in the sun but it was covered by layers of cloud and there was no real heat to be spoke of. 

‘But there is nothing else.’ 

‘Yes, there is.’ 

Sansa turned to Margaery who was looking out ahead, the ghost of a smile dancing on her lips. 

‘Do as you did in King’s Landing.’ She turned to Sansa with a flower in hand. ‘You must be the innocent flower as you were with Cersei. Do not bring up your brother. Do not bring up the Boltons. You are just a girl trying to get home.’ 

‘Then?’ 

Margaery crushed the flower in her hand. ‘He lets us pass the Neck and, when we return South, you'll crush them. We’ll have double the men and then you can add the Riverlands to your side.’ She dropped the crumpled petals and stem to the ground. Sansa watched them fall slowly before looking back up to Margaery. ‘What if I promise him peace?’ 

‘You can promise him whatever you want. He broke guest rites and murdered your mother and brother. Why should he be the only one allowed to break sacred oaths?’ The sweet smile on her face never faltered. 

Sansa pondered on that until her thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Podrick Payne. Without a word they both rose, put their boots back on and returned to the tents to meet with the new Frey arrivals. 

From a distance, the city was ancient and glorious, pyramids reaching high above all else, blessing the sky with their sheer size and majesty. Varys had slept for most of the trip but Tyrion had kept himself awake just to gaze upon its beauty as they approached. He knew he wasn’t there to enjoy the view but why waste the opportunity? 

_ Chances are I’ll be _ _ dragon-food _ _ before I can see the city like this again. _

When they entered the gates, the scenery was far from what was expected. Varys had awoken and was looking with Tyrion, shaking his head whenever they spotted another scene of depravity. For a moment Tyrion had to remind himself he had not returned to King’s Landing as they thundered through the poverty-stricken streets, peasants throwing themselves as the door of their litter to beg for coin. Her unsullied soldiers did their best to keep the peace but the crowds almost overwhelmed them and the litter hurried on at double speed before they were turned over. 

‘I thought Meereen was one of the richest cities of the world?’ Tyrion took a large gulp of his wineskin. 

‘It was. Those were ex-slaves freed by our queen. Not all have found a new place in the world. Many have had themselves sold back into slavery since their emancipation.’ 

Tyrion craned his neck backwards towards the sea of hungry faces. He’d only heard of the breaking of chains, not the chains that persisted nonetheless. He knew the other cities of Slaver’s Bay had fallen back into the hands of Slavers since her departure; he knew not to bring that up quite yet. 

‘Anything I should know about our Dragon Queen?’ 

Varys was focused on the world outside of their litter. ‘She cannot be burnt.’ 

‘Well there goes my wildfire trick.’ He smirked as he took another swig. 

‘And she doesn’t appreciate jokers or drunks.’ Varys sat forward and seized the skin from him, stashing it in one of his robe’s many pockets. 

‘And there’s my other party trick.’ He crossed his arms defiantly and chose to close his eyes until they arrived. 

A sharp kick woke him from his dozing as the cab drew to a stop. One of the unsullied that had greeted them at the harbour opened the door for them and helped him down. Tyrion couldn’t recall how many days it had been since he’d been on solid ground for longer than the walk from the ship to the litter. Their journey through the free cities had seemed so long ago. He took his place beside the Eunuch as a group of unsullied surrounded them and began marching them towards the base of the great pyramid. 

‘You should probably remove that.’ Varys stopped him when they reached the doors to the audience rooms. 

‘Hmm?’ Tyrion couldn’t manage words as he recovered from the many stairs he’d hauled himself up. _ They need a basket like the _ _ Eeyrie _ _ . _Varys was looking at his shirt so he looked down upon himself and noticed the folds of his cloak had shifted to reveal the direwolf pin secured to his tunic below. He unfastened it and slipped it into a pocket. 

‘A bold choice of broach for a Lannister.’ Varys remarked with a sly look upon his very round face. 

‘It’s Sansa’s,’ he tapped his pocket as if there was a chance he could’ve lost it in a matter of seconds, ‘I’m looking after it for her.’ 

Varys nodded but his expression did not change. Jaime must have found the silver wolf when he’d put together a bag of clothes for him, sent down to the galley before it left. He had first supposed he’d leave it among his other belongings yet the thought that he might never see them again prompted him to stick it to himself for safe-keeping. 

He’d been waiting in the chamber for almost an hour when the door behind the bench he took for throne opened. Two unsullied entered and parted ways, allowing a slim, young woman from the Summer Isles to step through and take her place at the base of the steps. 

A few moments later, in a gown he knew to be traditional for the noble Meereenese, she made her way to her throne, flanked by a Westerosi he quickly recognised to be Ser Barristan Selmy who had vanished after Cersei dismissed him. She appeared ethereal in all white, her hair long and silver, cascading down her back in loose waves, her pale skin like milk in the moonlight. At her head he spotted a simple crown carved into dragon’s heads and a silver broach to match. 

‘You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt.’ 

_ Here goes- _

The army took a further three weeks to reach the Twins as they followed the Frey’s paths through the land that had not long ago been the fields Robb Stark had conducted his battle in. The ground was scorched, the plants withered, and nobody remained longer than bandits passing through or the Dornish, making camp every night. The slow movement was tedious and only fuelled Sansa’s nerves as they drew closer to Lord Walder. 

When they reached the Twins, the army stopped a mile away, allowing Sansa to ride onwards, alongside Lady Brienne and Prince Doran as well as their escort. Margaery had begged Sansa to let her come but she’d had to refuse, promising to stick to her advice and return with safe passage. 

As they passed under the portcullis, Sansa spotted a dozen crossbows above them, and even more dark eyes. She halted Empress for a moment to look up towards the loaded barrels, wondering what they were waiting for, if any truly had the order to fire upon her. It had been crossbow bolts that had struck her brother at her Uncle’s wedding, before Roose Bolton opened his guts, of course. 

They passed through the first castle and across the bridge toward the second where Walder Frey took his audiences. As they passed the water tower in centre, the wind whipping at Sansa’s stray hairs and a light right dripping down her leather breastplate, she spotted more murder holes where Freys awaited a false movement. 

When they at last reached the second castle on the other side of the Green Fork, Sansa was nearly wet-through, her Dornish clothes were not fit for the autumn showers of the Riverlands. _ I shall have to start wearing my dresses again soon or I’ll freeze before we reach Winterfell. _Two more Frey men, one thin as a girl and the other tall and wide, met them at the entrance and led them to their liege Lord in his audience chambers where a gaggle of his issue lined the walls. At the centre of the room he sat, a shrivelled corpse with a shaking, claw-like hand gripping the corner of his chair as if it were about to run from him. His skin sagged around his sharp features, unkept eyebrows taking a commanding position on his face. He was draped in dark cloth, embroidered with two silver towers at the breast, but his clothes hung heavy on his bent frame, weighing him down further towards the floor. Beside him a woman Sansa supposed was wife stood; she was young enough to be his granddaughter and she wore the facial expression of slight terror Sansa knew well. One of their newest escort stepped in front of them as Sansa took her place with many narrow, beady eyes upon her. 

‘You stand before Lord Walder of House Frey, Lord of the Crossing and Lord Paramount of the Trident.’ 

_ Here goes- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is well! Just wanted to take the opportunity to thank everyone for their continued readership. I love every comment and appreciate all your support.  
I've had much more free time to write in this lock-down, hence the quantity of chapters, and I've now made the decision to split this work in several books to break it up a bit. We haven't reached the end of this one yet, don't worry!


	13. The Wolf and the Weasel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 - Unlucky for some

‘Lord Frey.’ _ _

‘Lady Stark.’ After she made no reply he continued. ‘Join me and mine for meat and mead, child.’ He reached out a hand to beckon her towards the few tables set out with wines and cold meats.

‘No thank you. My Lord. I don’t intend on staying here long and we have both meat and mead in good supply.’ 

Lord Walder retracted his hand and narrowed his eyes. ‘Why have you come then, Kingslayer?’

Sansa took a careful step forward, ‘simply to beg passage for my men across the Twins. I ask for nothing more.’ 

‘Nothing more?’ his voice rose, ‘you know nothing of the risk I have taken not killing you upon sight, child. You are a murderer and leader of a rebellion against the crown. Why would I risk my family’s good name for your damned sort?’

‘I will give whatever you desire, within reason. You have my word.’ She’d planned those exact words with Margaery, and she awaited his reply. 

‘Your word?’ He swung his head back and forward and emitted a grotesque laugh. His  descendants knew their role and soon joined in until it was deafening. ‘You word means next to nothing, Wolf. No, your brother was a wolf. You must then be the bitch.’

_ He’ll bait you to an attack, you must resist.  _ Margaery’s words echoed in her head but she still had to bite her tongue to hold back the stream of insults she knew she could muster. 

‘I don’t give you my word as a Stark. I expected a man such as yourself would never make the same mistake twice.’ She paused, for effect. ‘Instead, I give you my word as a Lannister, you’re aware of the saying, I assume.’ 

‘ Lannisters always pay their debts.’ He mumbled carefully before a sly grin pulled at his flesh, ‘but you’re no Lannister, heh. Marriage cannot make you a lion.’ 

‘I may not be a Lannister by birth but my husband is.’

‘The  _ imp _ ? You mean to threaten me with that dwarf?’ He went to start another round of laughter but Sansa spoke quickly to save herself the  humiliation . 

‘It’s not a threat, only a promise. With Lord Tywin dead and  Jaime Lannister a knight sworn to hold no land or titles, Tyrion is Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. You well know how lucrative alliances with  Lannisters can be. Let my men through today and he’ll give you what you want, he won’t be able to refuse.’ 

‘Do you take me for a fool, girl? Tywin Lannister didn’t ‘die’, he was murdered by the same imp you wish to use to supplement me? He steps foot inside of Westeros he’ll be a dead man, what can he do from thousands of miles away? Damn you!’ Walder Frey sat backwards into the great oaken chair that further diminished his slight frame. 

‘What is it that you desire from me. You wouldn’t have had be brought here if there was nothing you wished to request. You said it yourself, I present a risk.’ 

She’d hoped he take her original  offer; however transparent it was; she’d expected him to be smarter than that but it would have been many times simpler than whatever he could ask of her. When her mother had stood in the same position, begging for Robb to be able to pass South, Lord Walder had asked a lot. Robb had been required to marry his choice of a Frey, Arya was to be married to a Frey too, some of his scion were to be taken on as squires and likely more Brienne wasn’t aware of. Then her mother had been at a far greater advantage that Sansa found herself in. She and Lord Walder knew each-other, albeit vaguely; Lord Walder still respected the  Tullys as Lords of the Trident therefore Catelyn as their representative and, most significantly, he had not yet made a deal with the very people Sansa sought to destroy. 

_ Whatever he asks will be too much, I have little, if anything, to bargain with. At least he cannot ask for me to marry one of his heirs. I have Tywin Lannister to thank for that.  _

The corpse Lord was silent in thought. At once he shook to attention and summoned a page to his side, mumbled something to him and sat back in his chair looking  satisfied . 

‘I know you have little to offer me, so I should turn you away or, even better, hold you here for the  Lannisters . However, I have decided to show my benevolence today and allow you to pass asking very little in return. I cannot take your word and expect you to make good on any promises you make but I can be certain you will keep your word if you can  fulfil my request right here.’

Sansa swallowed hard, her mind spinning with the possible foul acts he might have her commit in front of his family. There was ample room for a number of tortures and she distrusted the look in his eyes. 

The page returned and, as his Lord gestured towards Sansa, he handed her what he had fetched; a piece of parchment and well-inked quill. She looked up to him in confusion and his eyes somehow shone will more glee than before. 

‘Write me a letter, in your sweetest hand. Beg me to let you pass. You shall read it in here and I will decide whether you have earnt back what your brother lost.’ Some of the older  Freys closest to him sniggered. ‘I would say that’s a generous deal, wouldn’t you?’ 

_ How generous of you, Lord Walder. How sweet of you to have me on my knees before you, kissing the ground on which  _ _ you _ _ stand and condoning your cruelty.  _

Sansa glanced behind her but her companions offered nothing more than shrugs and sympathetic smiles. This concerned the honour of herself and family, this was her decision to make. 

Her father’s voice rang in her head. ‘ _ A true leader must put the fate of their people above their own pride, however much  _ _ it _ _ hurts _ ’. She heard him so plainly she could have sworn he was stood just behind her, alongside Ser Brienne, but when she turned, it was just as before. Sansa racked her brains trying to remember when she’d heard her father utter those words. It sounded like something he’d say to Robb or Jon but the memory did not come to her. 

‘May I have a room, to write in?’ She loathed the idea of standing in front of the weasels any longer than she needed. 

‘Excellent!’ Lord Frey clapped his hands together, ‘you have more sense than you brother after all.’ He motioned to his page who lead her into a small side room with a desk for her to write on. Lady Brienne followed her in but she asked her to stand outside and guard the door.  _ This is my burden.  _

Lord Walder rejected her first two attempts for not ‘moving him’ enough so, once again, Sansa made her way back into his audience chambers, holding her third parchment close to her chest. Several hours has passed since their arrival and the  Freys had eaten and begun the evening’s festivities while they waited. Sansa hoped the more drunken they got, the more likely they’d be to accept her plea. 

‘Lord Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing,’ she refrained from naming him Lord Paramount of the Trident, ‘I, Sansa of House Stark, rightful Lady of Winterfell and  Wardeness of the North, write to you to seal the wounds wrought between our two great Houses. House Frey has been a generous and obliging supporter of my mother’s house of Tully, yet they have yet to show you the same respect. My brother  humiliated your good nature by discarding the honourable terms agreed for not simply passage through the Crossing but for many of your loyal men. My brother Robb Stark married a common Westerner, insulting your great family name and showing his own foolishness. I condemn his actions against House Frey and intend to make every effort to forge a lasting bond between House Stark and yours. I write this of sound mind and of my own accord.’ 

‘Have you signed it?’ Lord Walder drawled from his chair. He was sitting so far backwards she could hardly see his face from below. It made it near impossible to judge his opinion of her work. She was disgusted by the words that had just spilled from her mouth but her more subtle attempts were not deemed damning enough and she knew she had to heed her father’s advice, wherever his words had come from. She held the parchment towards him, signed in her swooping hand, and he reached forward and snatched it up with bony claws. 

‘Heh, this is good. Very good.’ He looked over the words once more before turning towards her with certainty, ‘fine. You’ve done well, bitch.’ His inebriated sons chortled around her. ‘Shut up, the lot of  ya ’. They quickly quietened, ‘excuse my horrible children. Lady Stark, you and yours may pass across my Twins and, if you, by the gods, live, I might even let you return on your way South.’ 

‘Many thanks, my Lord. May the Seven bless you.’ 

‘The Seven? Fuck the seven! This piece of paper is all I need. You may leave now, consider the debt paid.’ He turned away from his to grab at his poor wife beside him and pull her onto his lap. Sansa took this an indication they were no longer welcome and made to leave the way they entered. 

‘Sansa Stark?’ He called from behind her, ‘don’t soon forget this kindness. I would hate to have to arrange another bloody wedding, hah!’ He erupting in cackling and the hall echoed him. Sansa curled her hands into tight fists until her fingernails drew blood in her palm. She took her place beside Brienne and refused to turn back. 

They rode back to the camp in silence, the rain wetting all that had dried in the Twins. Sansa lavished in the shower, wishing to be drenched from head to two in order to scrub that the stench of weasel from her. She had not said the words to  Oberyn or Brienne but she knew they would swear never to speak of what she had said or written of her brother in order to gain passage. Still, the thought of her signature on the bottom of that parchment made her sick. She had to remind herself of Margaery’s words.  _ When I have reclaimed what is rightfully mine, I will return to him and make him eat his words of benevolence and kindness. Winter will come for Walder Frey as it came for Joffrey Baratheon before him.  _

By the time they returned, night had fallen and all were tired and in need of fresh clothes and food. Margaery poured her a hot bath from a spring they’d located nearby and filled it with flowers she’d picked that filled the air with the scent of autumn. She lowered her body into the steam and water, closing her eyes as she fully submerged her head under the water. She wanted to scream, even if it meant filling her lungs with water. She forced herself to surface but the resentment deep within her remained; she reached for whatever she could reach (which happened to be the pail) and threw it as hard as she could muster across the tent. After that, she could do nought but weep as the images of Walder Frey’s loathsome face played again and again throughout her thoughts. Margaery found her an hour later, still sobbing in the cold water. 

She hauled her out, rubbed her dry and wrapped a thick robe around her shivering frame. Sansa did not say word but allowed Margaery to sit her on the side of the bed, crawling up behind her to plait her hair back into its braid. Her hands fell to Sansa’s shoulders once she finished, turning her around to face her. The tears had continued to fall silently down Sansa’s face and Margaery could think of nothing to do but to pull her into her arms and sing softly. 

After a while, Sansa tired of crying and closed her eyes, allowing Margaery’s sweet voice to distract her from the filth she couldn’t rid her mind of. She was drifting into a slumber when her eyes, without cause, shot open. She remained still as to not alert Margaery and the words she wished to speak caught in her throat. On the other side of the bed, still in his battle armour and holding his wolf helm, Robb Stark was watching her. He was taller than she remembered, more a man than the boy she grew up with at Winterfell. He’d even sprouted a fine beard of browns and reds to match his hair. He said nothing, but his stare spoke volumes.  _ He’s  _ _ disappointed _ _ in me. I dragged his name through the mud to appease the man who murdered him and his poor wife. He doesn’t see me as a wolf, but as a sheep who caved at the slightest application of pressure. He was a King and I can’t even manage to put a feeble old traitor in his place.  _

‘I’m sorry, Robb.’ 

‘Hmm?’ Margaery sat up and raised her eyebrows in confusion. Sansa turned towards her and when she looked back, the air her brother had filled was empty. 

‘Thank you, Marg’, I shouldn’t be so bloody weak.’ She dramatically flung herself backwards onto the bed, turning on her side to look up at Margaery. 

‘It’s not weakness.’ Margaery lay down beside her and raised a hand to Sansa’s damp cheek, ‘feeling doesn’t make you weak. If anything, it makes you strong. That’s what separates us from the  Targaryens and Cersei  Lannisters of the world. We can talk about what happened when we ride tomorrow, but for now.’ She blew out the candle and Sansa pulled the furs at the foot of the bed, up and over them both. She soon fell asleep but dreamt of nothing more than Robb’s cold eyes. 

They woke and packed the camp up early, eager to pass the looming towers of the Twins and get Walder Frey long behind them. As before, Sansa rode in front alongside Brienne and Margaery, followed closely by Oberyn and  Garlan . All that drove her forward as she once again passed beneath the first tower was that tonight she’d be sleeping in the North.  _ How many years has it been since we left?  _ She wondered in an attempt to distract herself from the letter sitting with Walder Frey.  _ I was just three and ten when we arrived and  _ _ now _ _ I’m past six and ten. Nearly four years since I’ve been home and many miles left  _ _ till _ _ I’m really there. If it stands at all.  _

She’d heard all number of rumours around what had happened to Winterfell. Some told her it had been put to the torch by the  Greyjoys , or the  Boltons . Others were sure only parts were damaged and that Lord Bolton’s bastard had remained there. 

She gripped the reins tightly as they passed the central water tower, not daring to look at the dark eyes following them across. She was glad the rain had ceased but the wind continued to whip at their backs as they crossed and Sansa feared some of the lighter wagons would not take the force. Whilst Sansa busied her mind with carts and supplies, they passed through the second castle, and she nearly fell from her saddle as Empress stopped abruptly whilst a Frey man opened the final  gate for them to pass. The others went to let Sansa move forward first. Instead of leaving on horseback, Sansa swung her leg over its back and dropped down carefully onto the cobblestone beneath. She caught Empress’ reins together in one hand and led her outside, down some more of the stone bridge, and finally onto drying grass. 

She could hear the others follow on their horses but she continued to walk on foot, savouring the feel of Northern ground beneath her boots. She even jumped to prove to herself that it was real. After a while, she heard the army behind her beginning to back up onto the bridge so she mounted and continued onwards up the King’s Road. 

After passing the Crossing with little incident, bar some arguments between  Dornish and Frey men followed by many insults, the army continued, making good progress. They made camp several hours later, putting the Twins far behind them. 

Sansa was sat alone in her tent when Brienne popped her head through the flap. 

‘My lady, Prince  Oberyn wants to know if you’ll join the men for drinks. They’re celebrating finally reaching the North.’ 

Sansa looked up and shook her head. She wished to toast their journey with her companions and truly enjoy the few moments of peace yet something pulled on her like a stone in her gut, making the concept of celebration sickening. She couldn’t face the possibility of going out and facing Robb’s judgement once more. 

_ He’s dead, you fool,  _ she reminded herself when left alone again. Still, she replayed what she’s said to earn passage in her head, wincing at every insult she delivered, every thrust of the sword into her own side. If it wasn’t for the letter she’d written, she wouldn’t be concerned. Walder Frey could do little with her words – _ words are wind.  _ But a signed letter in her own hand? He could ruin her hopes of ever holding the North with a single raven. No one would trust the girl who spent too long in the Southern sun and condemned her own brother, their king. 

‘Fuck you.’ She wasn’t sure if she was directing that towards herself or Walder Frey and she didn’t care if Brienne heard it outside either. 

‘Brienne,’ she called after more thinking, ‘don’t let anyone in tonight, I wish to be left to myself.’ 

The great woman’s head appeared once more. ‘Are you alright, my lady. Can I get you anything?’ 

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ She forced her best smile and turned as if to change into her night clothes for an early night. When Brienne vanished, she stopped re-buckled the breast plate she had begun to work on and pulled a cloak around herself, hood up. For a commander’s tent, it was relatively unguarded and, by testing each corner carefully, Sansa found an area she could lift just enough to crawl under without disturbing the structure and alerting Brienne. Before she fully left, Sansa stopped and put her hand to her waist, feeling for the belt and knife attached. Satisfied, she slipped out and walked swiftly in the opposite direction to the camp. 

The make-shift stables had been set up close to the edge, far enough from the  festivities in the centre for Sansa to drop her hood and approach the stablemaster. 

‘Lady Stark?’ He bowed his head when he  recognised her by the candlelight, ‘shall I saddle a horse?’ 

She nodded in reply and  waited anxiously whilst his stable-boy saw to it. ‘Not Empress!’ she called out as he approached the black mare with a saddle, ‘I need the fastest mount you have. I have –um- an urgent message to send back to the Twins.’ 

_ It’s not a complete lie. I intend to send them a very clear message.  _

Several minutes late a long-legged white thoroughbred was led out towards her. She made her thanks quickly, pulled herself onto the saddle, raised her hood, and started at once South.

Her mind was completely clear as they raced back down the King’s Road, the  rhythmic pounding of horse hooves on the ground strangely soothing. 

‘Bloody weasel.’ Ser Bronn kicked at a fallen twig, his arms filled with firewood.

‘Don’t take it personally. He’s a snide arse to everyone.’ Jaime Lannister arranged their small fire, large enough to cook the hares they’d wangled from the  Freys but not large enough to create great plumes of smoke and alert the Starks and  Martells . 

It had been easy enough for them both to pass through the crossing. Frey didn’t dare question Jaime. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take the time to pick at his travelling companion.

‘How does an old prick like that have so many kids? What maidens are falling in his bed?’

‘Maybe it’s his ‘old prick’. Maybe it’s magic.’ Jaime assembled a spit over the flames and began turning the meat. 

_ ‘Must  _ have a magic cock. Must be keeping his sons from murdering him and taking his seat. Half of them looked old enough to have their own  welps twice over.’ Bronn fell down beside Jaime on his knees, adding his firewood to the small blaze. 

‘Must be killing all his wives too. Not sure I can recall what number he’s-’ 

Jaime stopped. He dropped his hand from the spit, allowing the hare to blacken. 

‘Did you see that?’ He stood, taking careful steps towards the main road. 

‘Aye.’ Bronn joined him, ‘girl riding past, fast as a shadowcat.’ 

‘Not just a girl.’ Jaime tried to look in the direction she’d raced off in, ‘that was Sansa Stark.’ 

‘What’re you doing back ‘ere?’ The guardsman on the door grabbed hold of her reins before she could pass into the first castle of the Twins. 

‘I have a letter to give to your liege Lord. Important news came to me by raven and we must discuss it.’ She withdrew parchment from her cloak’s pockets and thrust it towards him. ‘Please, its urgent.’ 

‘Let’s see it then, bitch.’ She bristled at the new name she’d apparently been given. He went to grab at the latter but she pulled back. 

‘It’s not for any folk to see, only Lord Walder.’ 

He looked at her hard, up and down, before turning to his companion. He shrugged, ‘heard the two of ‘ em made a deal. Was she  gonna do anyway? Not like she’s armed.’ 

The first sighed and nodded his head, stepping aside to let her drive her horse further inside and dismount. 

‘I’ll send someone to know you’re here!’ The guard called back after but she waved her hand and continued walking, even if she wasn’t sure which room would be his. 

_ That was... easy. I should use the innocent maiden trick as much as possible while it lasts.  _ _ Unfortunately, _ _ I have no clue where his rooms could be.  _

She’d been on the first floor to know it enough to guess there wouldn’t be room for the Lord’s chambers. At the same time, Walder Frey was too old to be heaving himself up many flights of stairs several times a day. After some minutes of directionless wandering, she came to a set of stairs. They must have been part of the servant’s quarters leading from the kitchens for they were unlit, walls of stone with uneven steps chiselled out. Placing her feet carefully, she climbed to the second floor where servants skipped from room to room, carrying trays, chamber pots and extra furs for the many  Freys staying here. She was just turning the corner out of the stair-well when a small figure bounded towards her and lost their footing. Instinctively, she held her arm out and felt small hands grab hold of her and cling tightly as she lifted them away from the drop below. 

The great brown eyes of a young boy stared upwards at her, his face blushed bright crimson and mouth attempting to form words. 

‘T-thank you.’ He mumbled, picking up the tray he’d dropped in the collision, ‘what can I do for you,  m’lady ?’ 

Sansa eyed his tray. He carried an empty pot of tea and two drained cups. She took his load from him and set the lid of the pot back on. 

‘Let me take this, for you. And tell no one you saw me.’ 

He looked up at her in uncertainty but, eventually, smiled and made his way, slowly, down the stairs. 

Sansa had begun to worry that the letter trick wouldn’t prove successful for a second time with the Freys guarding their Lord’s room. They were his kin and all too nosey to let her pass without reading the parchment first. 

Instead, she raised her hood and wrapped herself tightly in her cloak to hide the yellows of Dorne beneath. Sansa darted through the busy  servants and maids until she reached two heavy oak doors with, as she expected, two  Freys standing outside. She swore these were the same that had brought her in before, one small and the other large. 

‘ M’lord’s tea, if you please.’ 

The brothers, or cousins, looked to  each-other in some kind of amusement. 

‘My father doesn’t take tea. Calls it bitter and foul. Go and get him something proper.’ 

‘And take that cloak off too. I  wanna see what you’re hiding underneath.’ He leered towards her but she took a small step backwards and held her nerve.

‘I was asked specifically that he wanted to try the tea.’ They remained unimpressed. ‘It’s a new blend from – uh –  Asshai . They call it b-black  amethyst for its rarity.’ 

‘Let me see.’ 

_ Gods these Freys want to see everything.  _

‘I can’t. Not supposed to open the pot until you’re meaning to drink. I hear. Part of the experience is the aroma it gives off. It’s um, good for the stomach if you get my meaning,  sers .’ Sansa hoped they bought attempt at a  Riverlands accent. 

One of the  Freys jumped forward. ‘Don’t open it miss, don’t deal with anything that messes up my arse.’ 

‘What about  those whores you have, never let one get close? I tell you it’s worth a try.’ The second smirked. He turned back to Sansa after his brother had finished smacking his arm. ‘Go on in then, don’t be  dawdling now.’

She nodded and passed through the door they held open, thanking the Gods for Ser  Dontos and his black  amethysts from  Asshai . Once the door closed behind her, she quickly set the tray down and untied her cloak, shaking it from her shoulder to allow for movement. She dropped her hands and, as quietly as possible unsheathed the knife from belt. Lord Walder’s solar was empty but she could hear voices in a room ahead of her so she approached, her arm raised and ready to strike. 

‘I still have years in me for another wife, you know. Don’t think I won’t rid myself of you if you continue.’ 

‘I’m sorry, my Lord. I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. I only wondered what you’d do with it.’

‘It’s none of your bloody business wench.’ Sansa heard the sound of a strike and gripped the hilt tighter. 

_ It’ll be the same as with Joffrey.  _ She realised.  _ If I go in there, his poor wife will help me overpower him and she can come with us North to safety. She’s probably heard some interesting stories too, perhaps about the  _ _ Boltons _ _ .  _ Sansa tuned back to the argument on the other side of the wall. 

‘Fuck you. I’m getting a drink.’

Then came footsteps, drawing louder as they moved towards the door. Sansa took a quick glance behind her and saw the decanters and jugs of wine were not far from where she stood. While her head was turned, the door swung inwards and some unknown force propelled her arm forwards, sinking the blade below the shoulder. Sansa didn’t even realise her eyes were closed until she opened them- and screamed. Slumped against the wall, the young girl Sansa had seen lingering at Lord Walder’s side, enduring his wandering hands, clutched at her reddening chest, a silent scream painted across her features. She jumped forward, pressing her hands against the wound but the child was already coughing up hot blood, and had taken on death’s grey pallor. 

‘Please, please-’ Sansa pressed harder, using her other hand to tap at the girl’s face to keep her awake. The girl reached her hands forwards. At first Sansa thought she was reaching for her face but a hand had found her throat instead and was beginning to squeeze. She pulled at the  girls arms frantically but her grip was unrelenting and Sansa felt her own strength wavering as her body panicked from lack of air. As quickly as the girl had sprung, her hands grew limp and her arms fell from Sansa’s shoulders back down to the floor. Two grey eyes stared back at her, empty, gone, but they didn’t lose their guise of sheer terror. She sat back, spluttering as she gulped the air greedily. She tried to wipe the blood on her hands off on her trousers but now both were stained deep red. 

‘What the fuck? You bastard!’ Lord Walder Frey stood over them, his arms trembling in fury as he reached down and pulled Sansa to her feet. She didn’t realise his strength until she found herself caught in his grip. He had hold of the hand in which she still held the knife so she began to flail with the other, managing to rake her nails across his face before he took hold of that arm too. At some point, the knife fell from her hands but she couldn’t feel her fingers in his iron lock and she couldn’t hear it clatter for his echoing shouts and the pounding of footsteps behind her. 

‘I’m sorry.’ She could muster as four gauntlets seized her arms and shoulder and began dragging her across the room. In the darkness, she could only see his narrow, cool eyes seemingly sparkle with glee as she kicked and struggled aimlessly. One of the hands left her shoulder and she tried to use the chance to wriggle free but with a sharp  _ crack _ , the iron made contact with her head and the world burst into light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a slightly longer one. Thanks for all your continued support!


	14. The Lion's Debt

‘Your Grace.’ Tyrion ducked his head low, keep his eyes fixed on the young Queen sitting above. She gave nothing away in her expression so he rose, not wanting to look the fool. 

‘I was expecting someone else.’ Her voice was deeper than he expected, and it too gave no hint of her opinions.

‘Oh? Not to worry, I am well acquainted with disappointment.’ 

‘Lord Varys, why have you brought me an imp instead of what was discussed.’ 

Tyrion turned and found the spider lurking by the door, sporting a fresh change of robes and  and enveloped in a cloud of lavender and herbs. 

‘The Lady Stark was unfortunately without by the time I arrived in Kings Landing. I decided to bring you a different gift I believe will be equally as useful to your cause.’

‘I am a gift now?’ Tyrion smirked, ‘well- I’ve been called worse.’

The Queen was unimpressed, ‘where is Lady Stark and what news is there of Westeros? Many rumours have reached me but none compare to the information you acquire. We have missed your knowledge.’ 

‘Lady Sansa was last seen in Dorne as a guest of the Prince Doran. After murdering King Joffrey, she fled there with Queen Margaery.’ 

Her stoic expression faltered, ‘the pretender’s son is dead?’ She let out a dry chuckle. ‘They’re doing my work for me.’ 

‘She killed Joffrey?’ Ser Barristan Selmy stepped forward to question Varys, ‘the last I saw Sansa Stark she was a fair, harmless maid. I can’t imagine her-’

‘The last Wolf is a cub no more.’ Lord Varys looked up to Daenerys. ‘There is more. Tywin Lannister is dead too.’

‘That was my doing.’ Tyrion piped up, her eyes falling on him, inspecting him. He didn’t think eyes could be that violet but hers illuminated the darkness. 

‘You? Who are you? An assassin?’ 

‘Not by trade, though it seems a particular talent of mine. I am Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin.’ 

‘Lannister? Lord Varys why have you brought a traitor into my court?’ She rose slightly from her bench and one of her unsullied men  took a step towards him. 

‘I’ll admit that I’m a traitor but only to my own house. All I seek is a little peace and it seems you may be the solution.’ 

‘Lord Varys?’

‘He’s correct, my queen. I myself have helped Tyrion in plans to thwart Cersei Lannister’s plots. He has great knowledge of the seven Kingdoms and experience with their manipulation that I unfortunately lack.’ 

‘I also know a great deal about sewers.’ Tyrion had relaxed after  Vary’s recommendation, he feared the dragon’s bite slightly less.

‘Why would I care for sewers?’

‘The greatest wars are won in sewers, someone once said. My father used to make me work in the sewers of  Casterly Rock and then in Kings Landing when I moved there. I quickly learnt their twists and turns. Came in handy during the Battle of Blackwater against the Baratheon and might come in handy again.’ 

‘Ser Barristan?’ She turned to the ageing knight, ‘you know the dwarf, can he be trusted?’

Ser Barristan took several moments to consider, looking from the ground to Tyrion for inspiration, ‘I’ve known Tyrion to be a smart man. If being trustworthy is suitable for him, I think he could manage it.’ 

_ Why couldn’t he just say ‘yes’? Does he not understand I’m trying not to die? _

_ ‘ _ Nobody in Westeros wants to see my sister dead as much I do, that you can trust.’ 

Daenerys Targaryen searched the room for answers, but none came. ‘My bear knight betrayed me and it’s said I will be betrayed again. I cannot trust that it will not be by you. I’m sorry, Lord Tyrion.’ 

Varys only shot him a sympathetic look as the unsullied grabbed hold of his shoulder and began to escort him out. They moved him quicker than his legs could keep up with and, several steps from the door, he tripped and fell flat upon the polished marble floor. He winced at the impact but pushed himself up, relatively unharmed. As he did so, he shook himself off and his attention was brought to the clattering of metal beneath him. Sansa’s broach had fallen from his pocket. He bent to pick it up and, as he rose, he spun round to face the Queen who was embroiled in conversation with the Spider. 

‘You Grace!’ He called as he skipped away from the unsullied pursuing back across the throne room. ‘I have proof, of a sort.’ 

She turned to  him; her arms crossed high on her chest. ‘I am tired, my Lord. I do not enjoy having my time wasted.’ 

‘A token from Lady Stark herself,’ he continued as he reached them, holding out the small wolf for inspection. 

‘To have this in Kings Landing would mean death.’ Lord Varys feigned a gasp as he took it in his hands. 

‘You prove nothing.’ She gave the broach a swift glance, ‘for all I know you purchased this after you left the capital.’

‘It has her name inside!’ 

Varys turned it over and nodded, ‘he speaks the truth, my Queen, ‘Sansa’ has been engraved on the other side.’ 

She went to look at it again but Varys brought it to his eye. In a moment he floated towards the window where he analysed the metal in the moonlight. He returned to them moments later, a smug smile widening his round features. 

‘I thought I recognised the hand, my Queen. Now I am certain. This was engraved in a copy of Eddard Stark’s hand.’

‘Her father?’

‘It was a gift from him.’ Tyrion interjected though she’d never told him where the pin had truly come from. He’d noticed the writing before but didn’t have Varys’ memory of letters and documents to recognise it. 

‘Why would the Lady Sansa give a Lannister such a prized possession if she did not have faith in him? If she thought he was in league with those that killed her father?’ Varys posed the question to the Queen who once more thought hard and carefully. Tyrion found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

‘Fine, Tyrion of House Lannister. I will have you as an advisor. But believe it, if you fail me, I will not hesitate to have your head.’

‘I would expect no less.’ He grinned and, for a moment, a ghost of a smile settled on her lips. 

‘You can’t be fucking serious.’ Bronn dismantled their tent as Jaime continued to watch the King’s Road.  He’d been watching for hours now, waiting for Sansa Stark to ride back to her camp. 

‘I very much am.  Don’t worry, you  don’t need to come.’ Jaime was certain the girl  he’d seen race past was Sansa, the very woman  they’d been hunting. Her hood  was raised and she was like lightening on a  steed yet, for a half a second,  he’d seen a strand of her Tully red hair and her mother’s blue eyes. 

_ Why  _ _ hasn’t _ _ she come back yet. It been too long. _

‘Where am I going then? I’m not waiting here any bloody longer.’ With their prize on a strange midnight mission to the Twins, they had no choice but remain where they were and follow her when she returned or intercept her on the road. 

‘To her camp. Brienne will be there if  we’re lucky.  They’re probably wondering where their precious leader is about now. You can tell them what we saw and that  I’ve gone to retrieve her.’

‘You’re heading all the way in their just to get her back to her own men. Leave her where she is, I say.  Freys will execute her themselves or send her back to your sister and we  won’t have to do a bit o’ work.’ Bronn slumped down on his own pack, watching Jaime as he paced, keeping one eye on the road  at all times . 

‘When night falls, I’ll go in. They won’t refuse me with my warrant.’

‘And then you’ll kill her?  What’s the-’ 

‘I’m not going to kill Sansa Stark!’ He snapped. ‘I never planned to.’ 

‘Ah.’ Bronn stood, ‘so why ‘ ave you dragged me across the realm for? To  _ not  _ kill someone?’

‘Cersei doesn’t seem to care about the safety of her own daughter but I do. Sansa must have seen  Myrcella in Dorne but word is  she’s not  been seen there since not long after the Stark girl left. And- and  I’ve ruined Tyrion’s life enough times, I think  I’ll spare him his wife.’  _ This time.  _

Once again Bronn nodded, ‘ah ’.

‘Do you disagree? Have I disappointed your bloodlust? You served my brother too, were you really going to murder his wife?’

The  sellsword turned back towards their belongings and continued packing them up, ‘no, actually, I wasn’t. Planned to off you before you had the chance.’ 

Jaime spun around. ‘Truly?’

‘Aye.’ 

‘Well-’

‘Well.’ 

The stablemaster walked solemnly into the tent, flanked by Prince  Oberyn . Brienne stood to attention as he entered and Ser  Garlan rose to his feet. Lady Margaery was seated in the corner of the room, wrapped in a shawl. She knew this was likely her fault and her mind  was spinning with images of her closest friend dead at the hand of Walder Frey. She’d told them all she knew – that they planned to bring the  Freys to justice after reclaiming the North and that she expected Sansa had decided to deal with the problem while close by. 

‘She came to me last night,’ He spoke up, ‘asked for a horse to be saddled. Rode to the South.’ 

‘That’s a lie.’  Oberyn unsheathed a short dagger and held the point to the man’s side, ‘we checked the stables, her horse was still there.’ 

‘S-s-she asked my boy not to saddle her mount but the fastest we had. I gave her a thoroughbred, one of my own.’ 

‘Put that away, Doran.’ Brienne turned to the stablemaster, ‘thank you for your help. Get your boy to ready my horse, if you will.’ 

The trembling man nodded and scurried out as soon as the weapon was withdrawn from his stomach. Prince  Oberyn took up his usual stance, leaning this time against a box with his arms drawn tightly across his chest. ‘You’ll be going, then? Didn’t know you were making decisions now, my Lady?’ 

‘I’m her sworn-shield. It’s my duty to defend her.’ 

‘Your highness, Ser, my Ladies.’ A  Dornish sentry had entered the tent. ‘This one was found lingering at the perimeter.’

There was a scuffle on the other side of the tent and the flap opened wide as a bearded, armour-clad man was shoved inside. 

‘Get your fucking hands off of me you  pricks !’ The newcomer shook the  Dornish off and stood upright to face the room. ‘Ladies, gentlemen.’ Every sword in the room was drawn. 

‘Bronn?’ Brienne was the first to lower her arm as she  recognised the  sellsword that had helped her escape from Kings Landing. ‘What is seven hells are you doing here?’ 

‘I’ve got a message from Ser Jaime Lannister, about Sansa.’ As he cast his eyes around his audience, their weapons were dropped. ‘We saw her on the road up to the Twins last night, he’s heading there at nightfall to get her out. Told me to wait here if that’s alright with your highness and like.’ 

‘Why should we trust a Lannister lackey?’ Ser  Garlan was still gripping his sword tightly. ‘What is Jaime Lannister doing here anyway?’

‘Ordered to kill the girl.’ Bronn replied with a shrug, smiling as three swords, and one pitiful dagger, were once again thrust in his direction. 

‘He wasn’t  gonna do it. Please,’ he waved his hands up and down in an attempt to get them to drop their arms again but they persisted, ‘fine. Only told me today but he just wants to know where his daughter is.’

‘And you? Why would you betray the coin of Cersei Lannister?’ Brienne held  Oathkeeper in line with his stomach. Somehow, she knew he was telling the truth about Jaime.

‘His brother owes me a lot of  money, don’t think he’ll give it to me if I partake in the murder of his wife. You know what Jaime Lannister has done for me? Fuck all. I had a nice set up – wife and a fancy bloody castle to myself- then who shows his golden head but Jaime shitting Lannister telling me I’ve been specifically asked to help him. Bullshit. Anyway, I decided I’d come with him but I wouldn’t do fuck all to help him. Course I didn’t realise we were both thinking the same thing.’ He reached forward and pressed the tip of his finger to Brienne’s red blade. ‘Can’t we wait for them in peace?’ 

‘I’m going.’ Brienne faced the others, ‘I trust Jaime Lannister, I can vouch for him and this  sellsword, but I still must go myself. I’d never forgive myself if he couldn’t get her out.’  _ Lady Catelyn would never forgive me.  _

‘Better get going soon,  m’lady . If you want to catch him, sun’s already going down.’ The sun was descending earlier every evening, every day their march had to be slightly shorter, every day less ground was covered. 

‘Pod!’ She called out, the squire skidding in the mud to meet her as she strode outside. ‘Help me with my armour, horse should be ready.’ He nodded wordlessly and they set off towards her tent. 

Night had nearly completely fallen by the time she emerged in her full armour and helm. She grabbed a small pouch and filled it with  medicines, a skin of water and a chunk of bread she’d had Pod fetch. As promised, her horse had been saddled in the stables. She pulled herself upwards, waved a short farewell to Pod and rode hard towards the Twins. 

She was halfway there when she spotted a horse pulling out onto the path from the trees, it’s rider in full golden armour. Even at a distance, Brienne recognised Jaime Lannister, although she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had given it away when he was so far from her and shrouded in darkness. She gave her mount a quick, sharp, boot to the side and they thundered onwards, eager to catch him before he reached the bridge. Jaime spun around at the last minute and pulled fiercely at his reigns before she collided with him. 

‘Brienne?’

She liked the way he said her name, without a hint of mockery. It was far better than wench, or bitch, or any of the other names she’d been given. 

‘Jaime.’ She huffed as she fell in beside him, bringing her horse to a trot. 

‘You made it to Sansa?’ 

She smiled, ‘met in Highgarden and we’ve got this far together. I won’t give up now.’ 

‘You know what she’s doing?’ 

‘She wanted to kill Walder Frey. As she’s not returned, I’m supposing she failed.’ 

‘To kill him?’ Jaime would’ve stopped his horse if it wasn’t more urgent, ‘can she fight?’ 

‘Prince  Oberyn’s bastards have been teaching her but she’s by no means a natural. Not to mention she left all her weapons at the camp.’ 

Now he did stop. ‘She went in to execute the man with no axe?’

‘She brought a knife with her. You could butter bread with it.’ Brienne continued forward and Jaime caught up, staring at the twin castles that had appeared before them. 

‘Raise your hood. He knows you’re with her.’ He stopped before reaching the stone and swung off his horse, tying her reins to a nearby post. Brienne followed his example and took his advice, pulling her cloak high over her head to conceal her face and leaving her helm behind. 

‘Lord Jaime?’ The guard on the gate stopped them as they approached. ‘Back so soon?’ 

‘I’ve come for Sansa Stark.’ He pulled a letter from within his jacket. Brienne  baulked at his frankness but trusted his play. ‘This is a warrant for her execution signed by his Royal Highness Tommen I.’ 

The guard lunged at the note and read it over quickly. Brienne was surprised he was even capable. He nudged his companion, who appeared to be falling asleep, who started suddenly then took hold of the note and read it himself. 

‘Let them through.’ He mumbled, ‘but this time make sure someone takes them to the Lord.’ 

The first nodded and opened the gate but remained with them once it closed and refused to let them continue until a porter passed. 

‘Who’s your companion?’ The Frey gestured to Brienne, ‘what’s with the cloak?’ 

‘My executioner.’ Jaime thought quickly and Brienne responded by grasping  Oathkeeper and removing it slightly from it sheathe. 

‘Ah, well, that’s fine then.’ A man in a doublet embellished with towers walked past and the doorman’s hand shot forward to stop him and explain the situation. With a sneer, he agreed and led them onwards, through to a smaller audience chamber than Brienne had been in before, where Lord Walder was speaking solemnly with others in Frey garb. 

‘Lord Walder.’ Jaime bowed deeply and Brienne followed, careful not to dip too low and expose her face. 

‘What do you want?’ He near growled at them in obvious agitation, ‘I’m in a foul mood and don’t want no more strangers sniffing about. Go on, speak!’ 

‘I’m here for Sansa Stark.’ He handed the same, now slightly crumpled, letter he’d shown the guards. ‘She’s my prisoner now by the order of the King.’ 

‘By order of the King, heh?’ He looked around to his companions who bore the same look of malice. ‘I would but- it's too late.’ 

Brienne almost jumped forward then but she noticed Jaime’s hand move towards her, settling on the hilt of his sword so once more she followed suit and did the same. 

‘Too late? You better be japing, my Lord. Cersei Lannister will be  extremely disappointed that the girl didn’t face proper justice.’ 

‘As far as I recall, ser, a man can exercise justice within his own walls. Lady Sansa committed crimes against me here, so I dealt with her here. Tell your sister she suffered.’ 

Brienne burned hot and her mouth sat open and dry. She had to fight the unrelenting urge to run her blade through Lord Walder and his sorrowful kin. 

_ He’s smiling. He shan’t be for much longer. I swear it to the Old Gods and the New.  _

Jaime kept his cool even if his knuckles were white, ‘what crime did she commit? She  call forth your own crimes in front of your children?’ 

‘She murdered by dear wife in front of my own eyes. Poor woman was only going to the privy when that Stark bitch fell upon her like some savage. I had to pull her off but my poor  Joyeuse was already hacked to bits. Maesters had never seen such wounds. I dealt with her quickly, but she’s dead anyway, what’s it matter who did it?’ He spat out his words with particular venom. ‘You’ll see your proof tomorrow when we hang her over the portcullis.’ A few of his scion sniggered. 

‘Thank you, my Lord.’ Jaime gave in, defeated, ‘may we take her body, as proof?’ 

‘I’ll string her up a few days, then send up whatever the crows leave behind, hah!’ He cackled, any despair over his wife’s death dissolving in his mirth.

Jaime turned quickly on his heel and they left the way they came. 

‘No. I won’t believe it, I can’t!’ Brienne couldn’t conceal herself any more. She lifted her hood and faced Jaime; her cheeks stained by tracks of tears. 

‘ Bri ,’ he brought a hand to her arm and squeezed gently, ‘we have to leave. We’ll see on the morrow whether he’s honest.’ 

‘And let him kill her in the meantime? I know he was lying, please. He just doesn’t want you to take her.’

‘You heard  him, she killed his wife. Why wouldn’t he deal justice?’

‘How many wives has Walder Frey had? Did he look to be in mourning? That man is too smart to kill her when she’s more use to him alive.’ She met his eyes, ‘we have to try.’ 

Jaime held her gaze until he finally relented. ‘We don’t know where the dudgeons are.’ 

‘I do!’ 

They both turned to see a small boy watching them from behind a door. He must have been a child of some kitchen wench or lesser Frey as he was draped in unclean rags and had dirtied his face. He crept towards them then dropped his eyes to the floor and waited.

‘Who are you?’ Jaime’s hand was on his sword again.

‘Jaime!’ Brienne cursed him, stepping forward. ‘He’s a child,’ she hissed. 

‘ Haldor .’ He held his hand forward and she shook it. ‘I can take you as far as I’m allowed, where the guards won’t see.’ 

‘Why would you do that, for us?’ He turned aside to Brienne, ‘I don’t like this.’

‘What choice do we have?’

The boy had started to walk back towards the door he’d entered from. ‘I was about to fall to me death down the left stairs but your Lady saved me. And she took me tray too so I didn’t have to go all the way back to the kitchens. When I heard they’d locked her up-’ He trailed off, focusing on the many rooms they passed though. They largely stuck to dark unused servant’s passages but several times they had to slip into the main halls. On one such occasion, a Frey knight clattered towards them and at once  Haldor’s hand shot up to Brienne, who in turn grabbed Jaime, pulling them into a store room until her passed. After that, they met with only one other, another child that  Haldor was one good terms with who ignored the two of them behind him. 

‘ Haldor ? What are you doing here, you swine? Get back to  ya ’ rooms or your mother will have me behind. Who’s these two?’ Another Frey guard awaited them at the door leading down to the dudgeons. Brienne and Jaime flanked the boy, whilst the guard awaited their reply.

Evidently, they had none, so Jaime launched a gold fist at the man’s face. The guard threw his head back, howling in pain, and smacking into against the damp wall behind. With a  _ thump _ , he fell to the floor, his nose a bloody, broken mess. 

‘Good luck, I have to go or me mum will get suspicious.’ Brienne went to give thanks to  Haldor but he’d skipped up some stairs and out of slight before she opened her mouth.

_ Fuck, my head.  _

Sansa knew she’d been drifting in and out of sleep. Every time she awoke, she tried her best to cling to consciousness but each time she failed and slipped back into a daze. She wished it was a true sleep, with meaningless dreams or nothing at all; instead she was haunted by two pairs of eyes: the beady squint of Walder Frey and the vacant stare of his wife. 

Every time she awoke, she recognised she was bound on the floor, feeling the rope twisting around her wrists and ankles as she tried to stretch out. She could guess her cell was  small, by the pressure of walls at both her head and feet. She knew she was fucked too, if she couldn’t get out soon. 

_ Fuck, my head.  _

She could just remember the  gauntlet coming down across the back of her head. There had been no pain then, only stars and singing yet every-time she was freed from the eyes, nails were driven deep into her flesh and twisted until she begged them to stop. But she was alone. There were no nails. Just pain. 

At one point she’d been awake long enough she reached towards the back of her head, feel for damage. As she felt through her hair, she didn’t recognise the flesh as her own. It was swollen and sore to touch. Pressing her finger against it too long sent her back into a feint. 

She was glad she wasn’t alone. Lady’s presence, curled up beside her, was a welcome relief from the isolation. She reached out her bound hands and lay them on the  direwolf’s side, feeling it rise and fall rhythmically as she slept. She dug her fingers deeper into her thick fur, her hand shooting back when she reached skin. It was ice cold to the touch, as if no life dwelled inside, even though Sansa could see her breathing and twitching as she dreamt. 

When she slept the next time, she was in a camp in a different time. She was choking on tears as strong arms held her back, Cersei Lannister smirking before her. She turned, it was Jory holding her still and her father was stalking out of the room, his shoulders hunched and hand on the hilt of Ice. 

_ This is the night Arya came back. This is the night father had to kill Lady.  _

_ Lady’s dead. _

Her eyes shot open. In the space were the  direwolf had laid, there was only, black, wet stone. She pulled herself up and brought her knees to her chest. 

‘Please don’t fall asleep, stay awake, stay awake.’ She begged the darkness.

‘Sansa?’ 

She didn’t expect it to reply. 

The dudgeons were unlit, so Brienne and Jaime had to feel there way inwards, checking every vacant cell as they passed. Every empty cell was a blow to the chest, stealing a hunk of hope as they reached the end of the room. It was only in the very last cell that Brienne spotted something moving.

‘Sansa?’ 

The shivering form was curled into a tight ball, mumbling quietly to itself. At the noise, it shifted to face the door, blue eyes wide and unfocused. 

At the side of the door, Brienne spotted a small, open case filled with a myriad of largely decayed items including several swords with blades rusted to the hilt. Laying on the top, a long knife caught her eye; it was near new and castle-forged, stained with recent blood. She snatched it up and slipped it in her belt. 

Jaime stepped forward and pulled forth the set of keys he’d swiped from the guard at the door. It appeared he was the only  gaoler on duty tonight and both thanked the Gods there hadn’t been a need to cause extra commotion and alert others to their presence. At the sound of the turning key in the lock, the figure awkwardly attempted to push itself to the back of the cell but its bound legs and arms meant it only reached halfway before giving up and turning back to them, eyes bursting with fear. 

Once they were inside, Brienne recognised Sansa, her bright hair just visible, if tangled and full of dirt from the floor. She wore the same  Dornish clothes she’d ridden in the day before but now the thin tunic beneath her breast plate was turn and soiled and she was missing a shoe. 

‘It’s me, Brienne. Me and Jaime have come for you.’ Brienne knelt down, reaching for the ropes around her ankles and cutting her loose. She seemed grateful for the freedom, extending her arms outwards for her wrists too. Jaime moved around her other side and together they each lifted an arm and secured her between themselves. When Sansa’s feet hit the floor, her legs buckled beneath her and both Brienne and Jaime had to stagger to keep her upright. After a few more tries, she was able to hold her own weight and be dragged along quickly enough. 

As they walked, Brienne noticed the Stark girl’s eyes darting between the two of them and could almost hear her mind working behind them. 

_ She doesn’t recognise us. What have they done to her? _

She looked behind Sansa to speak with Ser Jaime but instead she noticed the great swelling of the back of her head and, when they reached the stairs to leave the dudgeons, she could see the dried blood caking her hair. 

‘Careful Jaime,’ she instructed as they began to climb the stairs, explaining what she could see. 

‘Fuck’s sake.’ He cursed. 

‘I’ll kill Walder Frey.’ Brienne heaved her up the final steps. 

‘ No, you won’t.’ At the top Jaime stopped before opening the door and gave her a stern look. ‘That’s what she tried to do and look what happened.’ 

‘Why do you care so much about her?’ She lowered her voice as they followed the path  Haldor had  led them on earlier. 

‘I don’t. I just need to know about-’

‘Your daughter.’ She finished. ‘Could’ve asked  Oberyn for that. Letting her die would’ve solved many of your other issues.’ 

Jaime sighed, keeping his eyes forward, ‘she’s family, of a kind. I never got the chance to really speak to her and I know she shares her mother’s opinion of me. Bur when most of your house are power-hungry maniacs it’s nice to see someone normal.’ 

Brienne kept silent.

‘Besides, I owe Tyrion.’

‘You freed him from Kings Landing, surely he owes you.’ Brienne  corrected, picking up her pace as they rounded a corner into an area that had previously been more heavily populated. She was unnerved that they had yet to come across anyone. 

‘I did something else. Something stupid when I was younger. It doesn’t matter.’ 

Brienne knew not to pry so they continued onwards in uncomfortable silence. 

‘You take her, I’ll take out the guards outside.’ They’d reached the main doors before realising there were at least two Frey’s awaiting them on the other side. Brienne nodded and took Sansa’s weight on her shoulder. 

‘Stop! Drop the girl!’ 

From around a corner, the clattering of mail indicated the arrival of half a dozen Frey men. At the sound of disturbance, the door flew open and the guards outside fell upon Jaime. 

‘Can you stand?’ Brienne  hurriedly turned to Sansa as she unsheathed Oathkeeper. 

‘I think.’ Sansa had been brought to attention by the sudden noise and stood on her own. Brienne slipped the knife they’d found from her belt and tossed it in Sansa’s direction, hoping her reflexes hadn’t been completely lost. With great effort, Sansa shot forward and caught it by the hilt, her eyes coming into focus as she shifted into a defensive stance. 

Jaime dealt with the  Freys outside quickly, thrusting his blade through one’s stomach and relieving the other of his head with a sharp swipe. He kicked the bodies out of the way for their escape and turned to help Brienne fend off the incoming men as they pressed closer. 

‘Go, Sansa, run across.’ Brienne hissed behind her, grabbing hold of a Frey by his shoulder and dragging her sword along his neck, bathing the company in blood. 

Sansa ducked out the Twins and fled across the remainder of the bridge. She noticed herself veering to  one side and slowed down to a swift walk when she was certain her saviours were holding back her pursuers. 

_ I know their names, I’m sure. But- _

She nearly collided head-first with the dark figure of a horse as it cantered towards her. Its rider pulled the reins sharply and dodged her, nearly riding straight off the crossing and into the murky shallow  water below. 

‘What the fuck is going on?’ The rider dismounted in a single movement and looked towards the entrance where the backs of her saviours were visible, still holding off the advancing  Freys . He cursed and jogged towards them, sword in hand. 

‘No!’ She fell after him, grabbing hold his shoulder and attempting to spin him to face her. When he had stopped, she raised her hand and thrusted her knife in the direction of his shoulder yet at once she was out of the night’s coldness and inside Walder Frey’s chamber, her weapon lodged deep with a woman she couldn’t even name’s chest. Her hand faltered and fell. 

The new arrival seized the opportunity and took hold of her hair, dragging her back towards the Twins. She writhed in his grip but every pull was agony as new spikes of pain shot through her skull and she felt another feint come on. 

_ Come on, this isn’t it. If I can’t aim for the shoulder- _

She twisted in his grasp, now facing him, and curved her arm round his body, her dagger nestling deep within his stomach. 

‘ _ A knife in the stomach is death. _ ’ Obara’s words echoed in head as she pulled out her blade, feeling her assailants weight crash onto his knees. As he fell, he let go of her hair and she darted away, back towards the door where the fight continued. She was sure more men had joined the fray but her saviours fought on. 

‘You bitch!’ He heaved himself to his feet and descended upon her, his sword arm trembling as he aimed at her neck. Now they were both dazed but she knew her knife would never defend her against a longsword. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the twinkling of light on the other side of the portcullis and she lunged towards it before he slammed into the wall where she had stood. She grabbed at the torch and removed it from its wall sconce. When he laboured close enough to her, she thrust the flame into his face. He dropped one hand from his sword to stop the fire from reaching his face, spluttering as the smoke billowed in his direction. With the heavy sword barely supported, Sansa kicked out and knocked it from his hand, over the side of the bridge and into the water below with a satisfying splash. The Frey s pat out a number of insults as they both wrestled with the torch with both hands. 

He was many times stronger than her, even in as he continued to bleed uncontrollably into his doublet. As he pressed her backwards. she got a good look at her assailant, tall, well-built and dark of hair and eyes. In the light his pale skin was as white as the Stranger and for a moment she was certain the grotesque God had descended from the seven Heavens to torment her. At last, the back of her foot reached the stone wall of the keep and he pinned her there, still pressing the torch ever closer, the heat of the flames teasing her. With what she supposed was the last of his energy, he sent a sharp kick of his boot into her shin and she fell to the side, letting go of the torch to fall upon her hands. She moved to stand again but as she went to rise, he was already looming above her and, before she could shield herself, the flames were devouring her. 

The fire danced across her cheek, spreading from her chin to brow as a deathly scream filled the air. She writhed and tried to knock his hands to aside but the flames continued to lick at her, embracing her in their orange tongues. At first her face had erupted in white hot pain yet now that subsided and all she could feel was a comforting coolness. 

_ You failed. You can’t burn me. Wolves don’t cower from flame, they become it.  _

Her laughter echoed across the still water. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, when I said the last chapter was long- I lied.


	15. The Burned Wolf

‘I will not wait much longer, my Lady. By the time we arrive the frost will have set in and we’ll be sent to our graves.’ 

‘I’ve told you we cannot move her, the  maester says-’

‘I don’t give a shit what the  maester says. The  maester isn’t avenging his sister. The maester isn’t trying to follow a child into battle.’ 

‘So, you’d rather her die than follow her? You should pray to the Gods, your Highness, that she cannot hear you.’ 

‘She’s admitted her own ineptness. That’s why I’m here. But I refuse to bend to you, giantess.’

‘Brienne. Her name is Brienne. She had the curtesy to refer to you properly instead of calling you what you truly are, you should do the same.’

‘And why am I, truly, Kingslayer?’ 

‘Currently? A prick.’ 

_ ‘ _ Who’s a prick?’ Sansa hadn’t meant to say that aloud. She’d woken to hear the voices above her and, realising they hadn’t noticed her eyes flutter open, she shut them tight again and listened. She recognised the voice of Brienne, sitting the closest to her and the voice of Prince Oberyn, near her feet. The other voice came from across the room, pacing back and forward as he spoke. She knew who it sounded like but refused to believe that he was here, in her tent, in her camp. 

‘Lady Sansa?’ Brienne was the first to react, pulling her chair closer to the bed and leaning over in inspection. The large woman had the shoulders of a man and the stern face of an  ancient statute yet Sansa had yet to meet someone with so much heart and compassion. 

The sound of the others closing in forced her to open her eyes and, slowly, push herself upwards. Brienne’s hand shot forward, her firm hand supporting her back as she rose and the other pulling her bedding upwards for her to sit back on. Beside her, in all his golden glory, stood Jaime Lannister.

‘Jaime?’ Sansa was glad to find her voice strong and the rest of her body in little pain. 

‘Lady Stark. Glad to see you awake and looking well.’ His words were cold but his eyes were filled with earnest. He looked even less like himself than when she’d seen him in King’s Landing; his golden curls had resorted to a light brown and his lower face was covered in a beard nearly as unkempt as Robert Baratheon’s had been. 

‘What are you doing here?’ She was still groggy and covering her mouth as she yawned. Instead of her cheek, her hands rested on bandages. ‘What’s this?’ She looked up to Brienne but her sworn-shield turned away, mouthing something to Jaime and  Oberyn and returning without meeting her eye. 

‘We can speak later, Sansa. You should rest and discuss things with Brienne.’ Ser Jaime bowed his head to her and left.

‘I shall fetch Margaery; she’s been inconsolable since they brought you back.’ Prince  Oberyn exited. 

When they left Sansa, raised an eyebrow towards Brienne who was now looking down into her lap. She’d meant to raise both but found herself unable to move her left. ‘What is it Brienne? Are you well?’

‘I’m perfectly fine, my lady.’

‘Am  _ I  _ well?’ 

Brienne looked up, the words bringing a shade of grey to her pale features. ‘When we found you, you were deeply concussed from a blow to the back of your head, but you’d still been able to stand and defend yourself.  Maester Thomos brought the swelling down and believes there will be no lasting damage. He also found you had a broken rib and so many other bruises he couldn’t be certain which were merely skin-deep. Said we wouldn’t know until you woke.’ 

‘I’m not in too much pain, everything aches, a bit, but I can handle it. What about my face?’

She took a breath. ‘What do you remember of what happened, on the bridge?’ 

Sansa screwed up her face as she brought herself back to that night,  piecing the memories  together that floated before her like mutton in a stew. Once they’d been as one but now, hacked and pulled apart, none seemed to fit. 

‘I was on the bridge running. Then there was a horse and someone beating me back. I got him with my knife.’ At that she jumped upwards and scanned the room in a flurry of desperation. When she spotted the dagger resting atop a pile of her clothes, she settled back on the bed and continued. ‘I put a torch in his face and -’

‘And?’ Brienne sat slightly forward in her chair.

‘And I knocked his sword from him. Then he knocked me over and turned the torch on me.’

_ ‘And _ ?’ Brienne pressed again.

_ She can’t say it herself; she wants me to do it. What could be so terrible? _

_ ‘ _ And he brought it to my face. I felt it burn, or at least I thought I did, but then it wasn’t. Last thing I remember was laughing.’ 

Brienne stood and paced the room as Jaime had done not long before. She nearly matched his exact steps. After extending the silence long enough she stopped, sighed, and picked up something from on top of a box of otherwise packed away things. 

‘You weren’t laughing. You were screaming.’ She sat back  down, her face contorted in pain. ‘I saw you with the Frey so left Jaime to deal with the rest to help you. By the time I got to you, he was holding the torch to your face and you were screaming like I’d never heard. Took the man’s head off and threw my own cloak around your head. Jaime found us, your screaming only muffled and scooped you up like you were nothing. We ran to our horses and he fixed you to the back of his but by then, you’d gone quiet and-’

As Brienne spoke, Sansa lifted her hand back to her face, her fingers running along the left side’s bandages. 

Brienne coughed down the lump in her throat and continued, ‘thank the Gods you were still breathing by the time we got you back here.  Thomos took over, slathered you in oils and  poultices and herbs but-’

Sansa reached forward and took her protector’s hands, ‘how bad is it?’

Brienne pulled out whatever she had picked up before: a looking glass of Margaery’s with flowers twisting around the handle. ‘Take a look.’ 

Sansa didn’t know why but, as she Brienne carefully removed the linens, she kept her eyes locked shut and, for a while after Brienne had finished, she couldn’t find it in her to open them. With a deep breath, she held the glass in front of her and her eyes opened. 

At first, she didn’t recognise the left side of her face as her own. The skin was the pale pink of a new-born babe but without any of the softness. From midway up her neck to her cheekbones, the flames had licked, leaving what was left taut and mottled. Her free hand trembled as she traced the unfamiliar flesh to be sure it wasn’t a cruel illusion. The skin was uneven, some smooth and shiny whilst she found other sections cracked and bumpy. She tried to flex her face, forcing herself to smile, but her skin held firm and she could only manage an uncomfortable grimace that made her look in pain. 

She was in Robb’s room in Winterfell, seated up on his bed, her short legs swinging backwards as she watched her brother and Jon at their play. She couldn’t have been older than 10 whilst Robb, she remembered, was turning two and ten years the following day. It was her fault they were altogether. Her Septa had given her a set of appropriate tales to read in her spare time but she’d been so enthralled by the histories and myths that she’d engorged herself on words and finished too quickly. She feared Septa  Mordane would accuse of her not reading properly like Arya so she chose not to tell anyone she’d finished. Instead, she had Arya, full of unrelenting  curiousity and lacking any fear of the consequences, to steal away into the library at night to get her new stories. In the darkness, her sister hadn’t bothered to take care to read any of the titles, just taking as many as she could carry. Sansa was left with many she wasn’t interested in but Arya’s missions weren’t a complete waste of time and a few good books found their way upstairs. None of these were approved for her age and most she struggled with the complicated language but she barrelled through. 

One of the unapproved titles had told the story of soldiers encamped in a fine, but mysterious keep that seemed to beckoned them deeper into its endless bowels. It sounded like one of Old Nan’s stories and she revelled in its thrill. Two of the men, bored by the lack of action, turned to playing games with the other to pass the time. One such game that Sansa took particular interest in involved the spilling of candle wax onto the skin. From their reactions, it didn’t hurt for long and Sansa was eager to test whether there was any truth in the wax hardening so quickly. It hadn’t taken Robb and Jon long, after she asked them, to collected together candles and begin pouring it on themselves. 

They tried it again and again, spilling more each time to see who could take the  most. When they were tired of it, they both showed her their arms, lined with strange trails of hard, flesh-like patterns. She could never forget the fury in her mother’s voice when they presented their scars on Robb’s name day to everyone assembled. In the back of the room, she’d heard a chuckling and caught the eye of her father. 

_ If mother couldn’t abide a few lines of wax, she could never forgive me for this. A whole candle has melted on me.  _

Brienne was braced for a great reaction but Sansa wasn’t as appalled by herself as she imagined she would be. The flames had spared her eyes, nose, ear and mouth, by the luck of the Gods, and the rest didn’t matter much to her anymore. Once she’d thought herself blessed by her beauty; people praised her for it enough. In the tales the maidens were always beautiful and the knights handsome whilst the evil Kings and cruel whores were always  malformed and twisted. She thought herself better than Arya because she had inherited Catelyn Stark’s fair appearance and saw others as lesser than her for a large nose or an unfortunate blemish. 

King’s Landing proved how mistaken she was. In the pit of vipers, the beautiful, like Cersei Lannister, were the cruel and the homely had the biggest hearts. 

_ My face won’t stop me from conquering the North. It won’t stop me from driving a sword through Cersei Lannister.  _

‘Tell me about her.’

‘About who?’

‘Sansa Stark.’ 

The Queen had summoned Tyrion up to her quarters where they walked together on her balcony. She’d installed him in rooms high up the pyramid to save his legs the journey up every day when she held court but his calves still ached from the few flights between his chambers and the apex where she resided. She had discarded her traditional  _ tokkar _ that she’d worn to greet him and instead wore a sheer gown of purple silks over her slip, bringing out the violet in her eyes. 

‘Ah.’ He didn’t much want to speak of his absentee wife. He was still sore from her sudden flight, that and the knowledge that he was Daenerys Targaryen’s second choice to his own young wife. He had been brought to the Dragon Queen to advise her, not to deal in information like Varys. ‘She’s got a strong instinct for survival. Where all others failed in my sister’s claws, she kept her head above water and persisted.’

‘Is she a warrior?’

‘Gods no. She can hurt if she needs to, kill too as we know. Naturally, however, she’d seek more diplomatic solutions. Unfortunately, King’s Landing offered her few of those  Her best weapon is her tongue, she managed to tame my father with it .’

‘But she’s a leader, and ambitious? She’s leading an army across the Seven Kingdoms.’ Daenerys lent against the marble rails that kept them from the descent below, looking out over the waking city. 

‘As are you, my Queen. She wishes to return to her home and reclaim the titles that are hers by birth right, as do you.’ 

‘And do you love her?’

‘What?’ He stepped backwards, looking up at the Targaryen Queen who kept her eyes fixed on the horizon.

‘You are her husband and you carry her token with you.’

‘And she is a child. Our marriage was forced upon us by my father as a cruel joke to me and a way of controlling her inheritance.’

‘Yet, even in marriages of political intentions-’ She drifted, her mind elsewhere.

‘I grew fond of Sansa, saw her strength in our close confinements. And, of course, I would have to be blind fool not to see her beauty.’ His mind wandered to her. He was lying in bed, feigning sleep, as she sat at the armoire, brushing through her bright hair and, with slender, nimble fingers, twisting locks into a simple braid. There had been a look of concentration on her face as she secured stray hairs- her brow furrowed, eyes narrowed and lips slightly parted- that had elicited a light chuckle from him. She’d spun around in shock and his illusion was quickly broken. ‘I dare say we got on a deal better than Cersei and Robert Baratheon.’ 

‘The pretender and his lion whore.’ Her words dripped in ice as she turned to face him, ‘is she a threat?’

‘The direwolf to the three-headed dragon?’ 

‘Her brother proclaimed himself King of the North. It is, by rights, mine, yet he paraded the title like his ancestors never bent the knee. If she is following in his path, Cersei Lannister may not be the only false Queen to taste my fury.’ She was but a child herself but Tyrion was sure of the sincerity of her threats, her face telling of the years she had struggled to get this far.

‘Sansa has no designs on a crown, believe me she’s seen enough royal intrigue to last a lifetime. And it was Robb Stark’s people who named him King, if I recall. All Sansa wants is to be Lady of Winterfell and  Wardeness of the North, but if her people were to wish more of her? I cannot be certain what she’d do.’ He finished  ambigously yet he knew exactly what he expected of her. 

_ If they named her Queen, she’d feign humility and try to refuse but  _ _ ultimately, _ _ she’d take the crown. What better to sever ties with my sweet sister than to declare independence. Sansa is not fool enough to turn down such an opportunity.  _

‘I hope you are correct, for your sake as well as your wife’s, I am not, by nature, forgiving.’ She looked out back over the balcony where the sun had fully broken into the sky. ‘The city is awake and soon will come calling. I need to ready myself for the day. We shall speak later, Lord Tyrion.’

He bowed low, ‘I shall see you in court.’

‘Are you bloody stupid?’ Jaime Lannister stormed into the  tent, his arms raised in exasperation. She’d rested for several days and  Maester Thomos had been confident there were no other breakages beside her ribs which were healing nicely. She’d been able to walk around the camp and today was planning to get comfortable back in the saddle before they began again. They’d had to delay several weeks while she was out and healing and an air of impatience spread around the  Dornish . 

She’d manage to avoid Ser Jaime since she had first woken but she knew he wouldn’t be coming North with them and would seek her soon enough. 

‘I-’ 

‘The answer is plainly ‘yes’.’ He interrupted, pointing a golden hand in her direction. ‘You walked into an armed castle with nothing but a knife. You made yourself known to all around you. You didn’t look where you were stabbing.’ 

‘I knew it was foolish but I had to; our honour was on the line.’ 

‘Honour?’ He threw his head back in forced laughter, ‘honour doesn’t exist and will get you nowhere in life on its own. Your own life is more scared than honour. Did you learn nothing from your father?’

Sansa shot forward onto her feet. ‘Don’t you dare speak about my father! If you hadn’t put a spear through his leg and killed his men!’

‘If your mother hadn’t kidnapped my brother!’

‘If you hadn’t tossed my brother from a tower!’ 

Jaime fell silent at that, mouth opening and closing as he thought of a reply. ‘How did you know?’

Sansa’s voice became quiet. ‘I didn’t. Everyone thought it was Tyrion but I don’t believe he could do such a thing. I remember seeing you at Winterfell though, proud, dripping with ego, glued to Cersei’s side. He caught you two, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’ He spoke plainly before raising his eyes to meet hers. It may have been a trick of the light but Sansa was sure she caught the glisten of a tear at the corner of his eyes. ‘You can have my head, if you like. Send my hand back to Cersei, she detests it violently.’ 

Sansa fell back into a chair and gestured to the empty one opposite. ‘I was stupid. After Joffrey I thought myself invincible. I’m not a warrior, I never will be. Frankly, I don’t want to be. Swords are not the only way to play the game.’

Jaime took the seat, sitting forward uncomfortably to await his death sentence. Instead she poured him a cup of wine from her skin. Hesitantly, he sipped, ensuring that she drank first. 

‘I won’t kill you. Lady Brienne vouched for you, as did your brother- many, many times. I trust their judgement so I must trust you also.’

‘You truly are being stupid.’

‘I don’t think I am. Prove me wrong, if you like, but I think you have honour, behind your plate and mail. You’ve upheld the oaths you made to my  mother; many would forget them the moment she freed them, or the moment she died.’ 

Somewhere, in the corner of her eye, Sansa noticed Catelyn Stark watching them speak. 

‘Why did you ask me here, then, if not to stick my head on a spike?’ Jaime’s broad shoulders relaxing into his chair but his hand remained near to his sword at all times. 

‘Why did you come here? Other than as an assassin.’ 

‘ Myrcella . She’s vanished from Dorne. I agreed to hunt you down to ask you if you knew anything.’ 

Sansa raised her right eyebrow, ‘is that all? And when I give you this information, what next? You know you won’t be able to return to Cersei without my head.’ 

‘I am well aware. I don’t intend on going back. Cersei is lost to everyone, especially herself.’

Sansa nodded. ‘I can’t tell you exactly where she is but I know what her plan is. She’s travelling with  Trystane Martell and Ser  Arys Oakheart , as far as I know. They intend to relieve Tommen from his crown.’

‘How?’ 

‘That only they know. I’m not sure which direction they would have started, but a trip to Dorne can’t hurt. I’ll write you a letter for Prince Doran. I doubt he’ll give you any information if not, whether you’re her uncle or her  _ father _ \- ‘She stood and fetched fresh parchment, the note was already written. All that was needed was a flick of her hand for her signature. 

‘You knew what I was here for?’ 

‘As I said, I think you have honour and I could think of no other honourable reason that you would seek me here.’ She handed him the paper, leaning close to him, ‘and between us, Jaime. I’m grateful you came. Doubt I would have made it out of the Twins alive if it weren’t for you.’

‘You owe me nothing but a promise not to let your  vengeance confound you again. You’re smart enough to see this through if you keep that rage down.’

‘I swear it, by the Old Gods and the New. Safe travels, Jaime. If you find  Myrcella , wish her well for me.’

Jaime stood to leave and she stood too. He reached for her hand, pressed a brief kiss against the back of it and smiled. ‘I will. Farewell, Sansa.’

_ Rage?  _ Sansa smirked to herself when he had left,  _ no one has ever said that I have rage inside of me before. I quite like it.  _

‘My Queen, you  summoned me?’ The perfumed Eunuch was seen into her chambers, dressed in robes of emerald and silver and smelling today of lemongrass.

Daenerys Targaryen hadn’t long returned from her audiences for the day and was nursing her aching back and neck. 

_ I may never make it to Westeros if I must spend much longer on that damned bench in this crown.  _

Her crown was a fine thing, made especially to include her three dragons. Yet the heavy metal weighed down upon her head and she was usually ready to take it off after an hour. The  Meereenese just kept coming and she grew  more weary of their demands every day. She had Sons of the Harpy nipping at her heels, a constant stream of peasants handing her bones singed by  Drogon , two more Dragons lying restlessly in the pits and a war  descending upon Slaver’s Bay. Yet still they came with their petty disputes and still she offered them whatever solution she saw fit.  _ I cannot turn them away but soon I will not be able to admit them either.  _

_ ‘ _ You were not in court today, I looked for you to discuss matters there.’

‘My apologies, your Grace. I was visiting some friends in the harbour. I was at court however, just at the end. I was in a beard though so you shan’t have  recognised me.’

Lord Varys was a strange and unique man. He had enough  intelligence to bring down every house in Westeros, and likely many more beyond, yet he spent his life in the service of Kings and Queens. She was inclined not to trust him but she couldn’t help but be calmed by his soft tone and information. 

‘What was it you wanted to discuss?’ Lord Varys swept closer to her, his eyes lingering not over her but over the maps laid out on her tables. 

‘Tyrion Lannister.’ She began with a sigh. She hadn’t wanted to do this; she had decided to trust the dwarf based on the hatred he held for his family alone. Except, she had found, he didn’t only harbour hatred.

‘Oh, is my gift not suitable?’ He spoke in his gentle lilt.

‘I believe he will be but-but I think his loyalty is or, or will be, divided.’

‘Ah. Sansa Stark.’ He said her name in such a solemn tone that she truly believed he was disappointed. 

‘Exactly. He won’t admit it but he admires the Stark girl. If it came between me and her, I can’t be sure which way he would turn. Since Ser Jorah, I must be certain of my advisor’s integrity and dedication.’ 

‘What can I do for you?’ 

‘I won’t right him off yet, the little lion intrigues me. It would be a shame to waste his brain.’ She stood to face him, not needing to look up. ‘When you have news of Lady Stark, whatever it may be, it will come directly to me. If he hears of her triumphs or defeats, he may be swayed back there.’ She fell back down on her chair, pulling the thin fabric of her  _ tokkar _ tightly across her. She didn’t like this, it felt like she was deceiving her allies for the sake of her own insecurity. 

‘As you wish, your grace. Is there anything else?’

‘Did you learn anything from your friends in the harbour?’

Lord Varys’ eyes sparkled. ‘Oh yes! There was a matter I wished to discuss with you. Kings Landing has become overrun by the faith militant since the new High Septon has been selected. They impose their own laws, hand out their own justice and word is Cersei Lannister has been taken in by them for her incestuous relationship with her brother.’ 

‘Kings Landing is weakened and Cersei imprisoned? The city is ripe.’ She looked outwards towards her balcony in  melancholy , ‘but there is work here still to be done. I cannot leave until  Meereen is stable, even if Kings Landing falls upon my feet, begging to be taken.’ 

Varys let her think on it for several minutes. ‘There is news of Sansa Stark as well. My friends had word from White Harbour that she has passed the Neck but has been held back in her camp for weeks without movement. There are some rather salacious rumours of the arrival of a ‘burned wolf’.’ 

‘Burned wolf? Dany raised a brow, ‘you mean she was  _ set on fire  _ by the  Freys ?’ 

‘Perhaps, we shall see. It is much more difficult for me to get news of Westeros quickly. Those tales may have been from weeks ago but the flight is long for my birds.’ 

Dany wasn’t listening to his metaphors and poetry on the skill of his informants; as long as she got the information, it didn’t much matter to her. She was thinking of Tyrion’s words to her earlier, pointing out how close her and Sansa were from their oppressed beginnings to grand, military endeavours in the present. 

_ He was wrong : we’re not exactly the same. Sansa Stark can be burned, but fire cannot harm a dragon.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Released this one slightly earlier than I was planning. My online exams start tomorrow but they're well spread so it shouldn't delay the next few chapters.


	16. The Causeway

‘It’s even worse than we expected.’ Oberyn Martell was, for once, seated, whilst Sansa Stark paced the tent in front of him. He’d sent scouts out when they’d been encamped near the Twins and they had just returned after their trip North. 

‘Speak. Spare no details.’ Sansa clenched her jaw and waited.

‘The  Boltons have taken Moat Caitlin.’

‘Shit.’ She grumbled. The  Ironborn had held the keep when they’d left. The Greyjoy’s weren’t keen on the Starks but she doubted they would attack if they passed by peacefully. The Boltons on the other hand-

‘Stannis Baratheon took  Deepwood Motte too.’ 

Another  Ironborn hold in the hands of an enemy. Or at least, Sansa wasn’t sure how Stannis Baratheon would take to her. Once, she’d prayed for him to take her away, During the Battle of Blackwater, she found herself staring at the doors, hoping he’d storm in and take her back home. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

‘We’ll never get past Moat  Cailin . The land around it is swamp and it controls the causeway to pass through.’ She looked over to the  Dornish Prince but he looked as lost as she felt. They’d been dragging the men through the Neck for weeks and everyday they made less progress as their hours of light slipped away. 

‘I don’t know what to say, my Lady.’ He turned his attention back to the map on the table, his finger drawing lines from their position to White Harbour.

‘White Harbour?’ She questioned, stepping closer, ‘I thought we’d march straight through the North. After the Neck the land widens again. Even if there’s Stags in Deepwood we’ll be able to pass around them.’ 

‘My men won’t do it.’ He looked up towards her with tired eyes.  _ What time is it?  _ She wondered; they’d been labouring over maps for hours. ‘I meant to tell you but, but we’ve  already lost some to the cold. We spent too long at the Twins and the cold has settled, they’ll never make the march all the way to the wall.’ 

‘ So, you’re abandoning me?’ She pressed her palms flat against the table. 

‘Not abandoning, no. I keep my oaths.’ He waved his hand, ‘but if we could sail to Castle Black for you to retrieve your brother then sail south to Winterfell-’

‘There is still a great distance between Winterfell and the shore.’ She trailed her finger horizontally from the keep east until she reached the sea. ‘If your men can’t make it from here to Castle Black, they won’t make it that long either.’ 

He was right, however much it pained her to think of it. A great gale had fallen on the North and all knew it would only worsen as they drew closer to the Wall. The  Dornish weren’t suited for anything but the humid climate of Dorne and they’d begun to show it. She dropped down into the chair opposite in and hung her head in her hands. 

‘Is this it? We can’t go North; we can’t go South. Have I doomed us all to die in this swamp?’ 

Prince  Oberyn made no reply but his silence was answer enough. She took a sharp intake of breath and closed her eyes.  _ My father came to me before, tried to teach me patience. I failed him and it almost killed me. Where are you?  _

She heard Prince  Oberyn shuffle away and opened her eyes. She was alone. No ghost of her past watched her. No voices gave her counsel. Nothing but the rage Jaime had warned her about. She wanted to throw something, and cry, or swing a sword into a tree. She wanted to scream. She opened her mouth to curse the gods out of the heavens but nothing came out but a burst of heavy air. Then another, and another. Every time she tried to inhale through her nose, her mouth would gulp down the air greedily. She clutched at her neck as she panted, the world spinning as her chest rose and fell rapidly. She’d risen from her chair to better stretch out but she wished she’d stayed sitting as the world began to sway around her. 

‘Sansa!’ 

Two strong arms scooped her up under her arms before her legs gave way. Carefully, she was sat on the floor and the arms snaked around her stomach and held on, too tight for Sansa to wriggle free off. She took a glance behind her, relieved to see Brienne’s unkempt blonde hair behind her as she struggled to steady herself.

‘ Shh...shh little dove.’ 

Sansa turned back to face forward, that voice hadn’t come from Brienne. Before her, under bundles of furs and a thick lined cloak, Catelyn Stark knelt on the ground. Sansa tried to speak but her breathing still hadn’t returned to normal. She sat silently as her mother reached forward and brushed a thumb across her scarred features and then across the smooth. 

‘No daughter of mine would let a ruin like Moat  Cailin get in her way. And no daughter of Ned Stark would let the cold beat her.’ Her voice was stern, lecturing her even in death. 

‘Now, an army may not be able to pass the causeway but perhaps they don’t need to. Your father rode back in forth through here many a time when the King’s Road wasn’t a choice during the wars. Of course, he had friends who knew the way but, I suppose, so do you.’ 

_ Who?  _ She tried to demand. Her breathing had slowed and she’d relaxed into Brienne’s firm embrace but the words still wouldn’t come,  _ who knows the way across the swamps, and what do I do with the  _ _ Dornish _ _ in the meantime? _

‘My Lady, what happened?’ Brienne released her arms and Sansa turned to face her, leaving her mother behind. 

‘I panicked.’ She said, her eyes downcast. ‘We’re in a bind and I don’t know the way out.’ 

Brienne said nothing but wrapped Sansa into her chest, luckily not plated in armour. As the older woman held her, Sansa felt metal pressing against her skin beneath her underclothes. 

_ Tyrion’s broach.  _ She’d kept the pin on her since she left King’s Landing, never trusting enough to leave it with her other clothes. There was something comforting about the little lion with the green eyes; she’d worn it first on the night she murdered Joffrey and never had she felt braver, like Tyrion was travelling with them.

_ Tyrion wouldn’t panic. He’d find a way out.  _

‘Brienne, would you get  Oberyn back here, he left matters unresolved.’ Her sworn-shield released her and nodded, leaving silently. Sansa stood, smoothed her breeches and flattened her hair.  Oberyn had clearly not strayed far and was brought back in moments later. 

‘My Lady?’ 

_ Sorry Jaime, a little rage is needed.  _

_ ‘ _ How dare you abandon me!’ Her raised voice took him by surprise. ‘You promise your service to me but cower at the cold? You write me off as soon as we face an obstacle?’ 

‘Sansa, the way is blocked. We sat here hours and found no solutions.’ He tried to play it off casually.

‘We’ve been on the road for many months but you’re stuck a few hours and you’re ready to give up?’ 

‘I cannot take my men forward to their deaths. I’ve come to avenge my sister, not lead others to her.’ He squared his shoulders. 

‘Give me time. Your men will not freeze in a day. That’s all I ask.’ 

Brienne stepped forward, ‘one day? Are you sure that’s long enough?’ 

Sansa smiled, ‘one day and I’ll present you a way across the causeway  _ and  _ a way to keep your men warm. If not, you may turn back and fight your way through the Twins.’ 

He considered for a  moment. ‘So be it.’ He nodded to them both and stormed from the tent. 

Brienne turned to her, concerned. ‘And if they go South? Where will you go?’

‘They won’t go South. My father had friends here. I do too.’

‘Friends, who?’

‘You’ll see when they come.’ Sansa yawned and shuffled towards her bed, signalling Brienne to leave her be. The great woman left, confusion written on her face, leaving Sansa sitting by herself, wondering how in Seven Hells she had seemed so confident when she felt hopeless inside. She had no idea if the ‘friends’ her mother had spoken of would materialise on the morn but it had avoided the need for her to explain that she was trusting the world of her long-dead mother. 

When she awoke, Sansa was disappointed not to recall any of her dreams. She’d hoped one would hint at the means of their passage North but her eyes had opened just as soon as they’d drifted shut. On most days, she had to be up with the rising of the sun to join the rest of the men in dismantling her camp for the ride ahead but this morning, aware that they couldn’t ride any closer to Moat  Cailin and the Boltons, she stretched out and languished under the furs. 

Margaery stuck her head inside. ‘Get up, get up!’  Finding Sansa still in bed she entered and threw her bedding from her. 

‘No.’ Sansa caught one of the furs and wrestled to pull it back over her, even inside, it was too cold to be in her nightclothes. 

‘Riders came in this morning, looking for you.’ Margaery gave up with the bed and turned to Sansa’s neatly folded clothes, throwing them towards her. 

‘What, who?’ Sansa shot up at that, cradling her head as it spun briefly from the sudden movement. When the world shifted into focus Margaery was staring down at her.

‘ Crannogmen , by the looks of them. Refused to speak to anyway but you. Come on.’ Margaery giggled as Sansa batted the flying clothes away. 

Sansa dressed in a pair of thick, dark breeches she’d been gifted back in Dorne. She pulled on a deep green, long-sleeved tunic she’d fashioned from an ill-fitting dress and strapped her leather doublet on top. As Margaery lazed on the bed, she slipped her sword belt at her waist with her dagger (and her sword which Brienne had insisted she wore) and pulled her black cloak, lined with grey furs, over her shoulders. She clipped it together with a silver broach, circular, with no particular design, and sat on the edge of her bed to pull her hair atop her head. 

Lady Brienne awaited them outside, fully-armoured having taken the watch, and led them to the small group of riders, awaiting her at the edge of camp. When Margaery had called them riders, Sansa had expected horses, but there were none to be seen, the arrivals were perched upon logs or speaking quietly to one another. Some were wielding nets and three-pronged spears whilst others were strapped with knives and had set small, leather shields at their feet. They had the appearance of  crannogmen , cheeks smeared with patches of mud, clothes of dark greens and browns that she knew would melt into their swamplands. They were a mixture of men and women, all young but  small in stature with slightly inhuman features. 

At their arrival, one stepped forward, the tallest of the bunch. She wore a half-helm on her head and  wielded a spear like the others. Sansa knew her to be their leader by the silence that fell when she spoke. 

‘Lady Sansa, we have waited for your arrival.’ 

‘That is most kind, you are crannogmen, of which house?’

‘You stand before Uma Reed, cousin of out late Lord and Lady of Greywater until the return of Meera.’ A warrior behind her called. 

_ Howland Reed. He and my father fought together in Robert’s rebellion. These are the friends mother spoke of.  _

‘I am sorry to hear of Lord Howland’s passing. House Reed and House Stark were bound by his and my father’s friendship.’ Sansa looked across the small company, ‘what do you seek from me today?’

‘The rightful Lady of Greywater Watch,’ Uma’s eyes were almost yellow, ‘My cousin’s children, Meera and  Jojen left long ago to pay tribute to your brother at Winterfell. That was before the  Greyjoys and then Bolton’s seized the keep. We have had no word of whether she lives or where she could be.’ 

‘You say Meera is the rightful Lady, what of her brother?’ 

‘Howland willed it that Meera would succeed him before he passed.  Jojen is a  greenseer , my Lady, and he is weak. Meera is a strong hunter and fighter, he knew her to be the better fit.’ Uma looked at her feet, ‘we thought that if they’d been caught, the Bolton’s would have ransomed them before now. And if they were killed-’

Uma didn’t finish the sentence but Sansa understood. She’d heard many stories of the cruelty of the Bastard of House Bolton. If he killed the Reed’s she suspected he wouldn’t  hesitate to let the world know. 

‘I’m on the path to Winterfell, if they remain there, I will see them safely sent back to you. You have my word.’ 

‘You are honourable, Lady Sansa, but that is not what we seek. Our Meera may have been lost to us forever and we know has suffered whether she lives or not. House Reed offers you fighters to march with you to Winterfell, reclaim what the traitors stole. Our Lady  Jyana was keen on us joining you.’

‘Lady Jyana?’

‘Howland’s widow. She met with your father many times when her husband travelled with him. Greywater was  horrifed by what befell him and she has been eager to send us since you passed the Twins.’ 

If it wasn’t for her mother’s promise the night before, Sansa wasn’t sure if she would’ve trusted the promise of support so close to the Bolton’s. The  crannogmen seemed honest but she’d learnt too many times that  appearances meant little and that promises were as thin as water. 

‘Send word to House Reed that it’s support is greatly appreciated and that we shall await their men eagerly.’ Sansa clapped her hand on Uma’s shoulder before taking her hands in her own. 

‘You’re having problems with Moat Cailin?’ Uma quirked her head to one side.

‘Aye, I believe you know a way past, without going through the causeway?’

‘Yes-but-’ a grin spread across her features, ‘I can do a whole lot better than that.’ 

‘The wager is complete. I’ve found a solution.’  Oberyn was sat over a camp fire with a leg of mutton when Sansa approached flanked by the female members of the command. 

He looked upwards to the sky, ‘it’s only just noon, impossible.’ 

‘You are wrong, I have passage across the causeway and a place for you to remain until I have dealt with my brother.’ 

‘You have been busy.’

‘Not entirely, they are the same thing.’ 

Oberyn raised an eyebrow at that and chuckled into his cup, some of his  Dornish companions tittered. Sansa was well aware how she looked, dressed in her ill-fitting clothes beside a giantess sword-maiden and the Rose of Highgarden. 

‘My lady, I mean no offence, but do you remember the last time you had an idea?’ His eyes flicked briefly over her scarred cheek. At this his men’s laughter grew and even  Oberyn appeared amused by her failure. 

‘I rarely have ideas, your highness, but when I  do, they make a mark. Who do you suppose thought up Joffrey’s murder? Who ensured the escape of Tyrion Lannister? Who is presenting you with a plan, as you requested, to get us out of this bind?’ She was growing impatient with the Prince of Dorne, the cold suited him ill. The sun of Dorne was never supposed to shine this far North. 

He made no reply so she began. ‘I have spoken with the  crannogmen this morning, as I’m sure you’re aware. They have agreed to follow me to Winterfell and are sending men to us as we speak. My father was great friends with Howland Reed, their late Lord, and he told me often how he’d pass the causeway without ever needing to enter Moat Cailin. It seems the secrets of the marshes are even more valuable to us now. Uma Reed and her men have agreed to show us the way, a small group, so that we may pass safely.’

‘Now  _ you’re _ abandoning  _ me _ ? So, you and your guards pass Moat Cailin, go onto White Harbour and sail to the Wall, leaving us here?’ Prince  Oberyn pressed his palms onto his thighs and stood, his men eyeing him carefully. Sansa felt Brienne’s weight shift subtly into a defensive stance. 

‘I can’t leave you here, you’ll be caught between  Freys and Boltons.’ 

‘But we can’t pass through Moat  Cailin while it’s occupied by the Boltons’

‘It won’t be.’ 

‘Now you are talking insanity.’

‘We’re going to take Moat  Cailin .’ 

The waiting was the absolute worst. Sansa and Margaery remained together, swapping stories in an attempt to block out the quiet outside of their tent. They’d sat under a tree at first, picking at the grass, but the silence that descended on the nearly empty camp was enough to drive them inside. Every few minutes, Sansa did truly forget that her men were fighting at Moat Cailin but then, something one of them said brought it all back again. 

‘You can wait nearby, if you like, watch it all happen?’  Oberyn Martell had offered as he strapped  together his meagre armour. His daughters were sat nearby, honing their weapons. 

‘I’d rather not, the waiting will drive me insane.’ She’d assured him then but now she was certain she would go insane either way.  _ How long has it been? Hours?  _

Prince  Oberyn Martell was up to his waist in swamp water, freezing cold swamp water. He’d warned Lady Sansa that the  Dornish would soon freeze in the North, was she trying to speed the process? He’d been given command of the small force skirting around the edge of the keep that controlled the causeway, he hadn’t been told that meant delving into the moat of Moat  Cailin . The  strange frog woman guiding them through the mulch had assured them it was short journey to the  entrance they meant to use to get in undetected-  _ her ‘short’ is a lot different to mine, mercy to her lovers.  _

He forced himself forward, feeling his three  sandsnakes catching up with him. There’d been no quelling their enthusiasm when they heard they could finally blood their weapons. He wanted to leave one behind with the Ladies but none had been willing to miss out on a chance to fell some  Boltons . 

Uma’s hand shot up in the air. He froze in his tracks, flexing his fingers around his double-ended spear, as she approached the stone walls at the base of the keep. Her face etched in concentration, she ran her hands up and down the stone, stopping briefly at one before shaking her head and continuing. Her hand at last rested on a dark stone near the base of the wall and she crouched down, up to her neck in swamp, to inspect it. 

‘It’s an old escape route.’ She’d explained as they made the journey from camp. ‘Lords who built the causeway didn’t want to ever get stuck between two armies. No one knows about it bar the lords... and we swamp-dwellers.’ 

With a smile, she pressed in to the stone, reached her hand into the small opening it revealed and tugged hard on something inside. She stepped back, waited several moments and, at the sound of a soft click, pressed her weight into the wall. The portion she leant on gave way, scrapping against the solid wall. Clen, one of his men, stepped forward and joined her, the water at their feet rushing inwards.  Oberyn stepped closer, from the gap they’d created, he could see the outline of a dark chamber beyond, its floor ankle deep in water and the ceiling low and unlit. 

Once the gap was large enough for them to pass, Uma stepped backwards, shaking out her arms before signalling them inside.  Oberyn entered first, his arm bent and spear poised for attack. The room was thankfully empty, only filled with the stench of the damp stone that had been submerged underwater since the keep was built. A thin layer of green scum had covered the stones beneath his feet and he had to be carefully to not slip. The Crannogmen, as ever, were nimble upon their feet and made it to the stair upwards before him. His daughters danced across too, leaving him trailing behind.  _ I’m too old for this.  _

The Prince moved to the front beside Uma who was waiting by the door. 

‘I was beginning to think you were leading us to folly.’ He chuckled darkly, ‘beginning to doubt that you had a plan at all.’ 

‘It’s not my plan. I simply offered my services but Lady Stark drew it together.’ He was sure he spotted pride in her tone, although there was no way to judge her expression in the darkness. 

_ The wolf’s got brains, can’t deny her that.  _

‘You ready?’ Uma’s hand was at the door. 

‘Always.’ 

Brienne of Tarth sat on horseback, watching the castle from afar. The Boltons were crowded around the arched doors, all armed with spears and crossbows, daring them to venture further. When they began to grow bored of Brienne’s men’s stillness, they dropped away so Brienne had to move her men forward marginally to maintain their interests. 

_ Are they truly my men? Lady Sansa put me in their command and their Prince is without.  _

A few arrows and bolts had fallen at their feet but all had missed their mark. The assembled Boltons were a small, sorry bunch and Brienne began to wonder if it was even necessary for Martell to sneak inside. They had no battering ram for the doors but enough force could do the job. 

She’d urged Sansa to let her stay with her and Margaery Tyrell.

‘As your sworn-shield it is my duty to protect you. No one else here has made such oaths to you.’ She’d made her point after Sansa had presented them her plan in the command tent, Ser Garland and Prince  Oberyn still present, in deep discussion. She’d been admiring Sansa’s handiwork and the confidence that became her when she addressed her men; it only occurred to her afterwards that Sansa had meant for her to fight. 

‘My Lady, you are one of the most accomplished fighters here. I value your protection but any man can guard. Leading an army though, that takes something else.’ 

‘Have  Oberyn do it, he’s their Prince.’ 

‘I need him with Uma. There are few people I trust in the realm and it just so happens that you and  Oberyn are among them. I need you both on the field because I trust you’ll do the right thing, because I know you and you know me.’ Sansa’s face had hardened into an expression that Brienne had never seen. ‘I command you to go, as my sworn-shield and a member of my army. You cannot convince me otherwise and I don’t enjoy having my decisions questioned.’ 

She’d given in then, part of her brewing with excitement over her new command whilst the other thought on Sansa. When she’d spoken, Brienne was sure she was talking to Catelyn Stark and not her mother; the passion in her eyes and command in her tone was  unmissable .

Now she awaited  Oberyn’s signal, her teeth gnawing at the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. She was growing restless, moving her horse along their battle lines back and forth, trying to dispel the chatter among the ranks. She could feel their desperation in the air. They’d been pent up since Dorne, promised war but finding only the endless journey North. It was wise to blood them now before Winterfell. She readied herself for chaos, for butchery and madness. Sansa had tried convince their officers that she did not intend to create a bloodbath and that the commanders inside where to be rounded up to face justice. Yet, the palpable energy radiating of the Dornish left the chance of mercy slim; Brienne remained sure she could at prevent the murder of some innocents but she was only one woman and the men were hungry. 

_ He’s taken too long. The gates should be open.  _

‘We must go in, for the Prince.’  Oberyn had presented her with a second-in-command who was well respected within the ranks. He rode beside her, twice as fretful and half as controlled. 

‘Lady Sansa said to wait. We cannot storm their walls.’ She thought otherwise but didn’t dare encourage him. 

‘We are playing a fools game, I say we charge now, they won’t expect it.’ His  Dornish accent wasn’t so strong as others. She guessed he’d been schooled further North. 

Brienne said nothing, keeping her eyes glued on the still keep before her. Every few moments, different heads appeared atop the battlements then vanished back below. Whilst she urged for patience, even her own heart bid her to drive her courser forwards and join the fray, but she wouldn’t give in to her fantasy, not while  Oberyn could open the gates at any second. 

_ Could the  _ _ Crannogmen _ _ have betrayed us? Lead  _ _ Oberyn _ _ and his daughters into the murky waters to slit their throats, letting us stand here like fools until we caved and marched forwards to our deaths?  _ She couldn’t rid herself of the dark images of her companions submerged in the swamps; she’d grown to enjoy the company of the  sandsnakes , their wit was near sharper than their blades, and her differences with the  Dornish Prince didn’t detract from the fact that they were allied in service. Her heart longed for someone she knew beside her, someone to tell her she was being foolish and that she should trust in her companions. She didn’t mean to think of him but, in her imagination, it was Jaime Lannister in his golden armour beside her, speaking lowly, holding firm to their orders. Instead she was graced with a an over-eager  Dornish officer that was near to darting forward at any moment. 

They would trade stories while they waited, her and Jaime. She’d grow angry with him, he’d shoot back an insult, but they’d end up laughing after all. She’d never felt so full of energy as when she’d fought beside him at the Twins but the  Dornish boy drained it all away. 

‘Commander, the gates!’ 

It took Brienne time to realise they were referring to her. She shook herself from her girl’s fantasies and focused back on the keep ahead. The gates remained shut tight and Brienne was about to draw her sword on whoever got her hope up, but then she heard the shouting echoing from the causeway- something was happening within. 

‘Men!’ She turned her horse to face them and raised her voice, ‘Moat  Cailin is ripe for the taking. Spare their innocents and round up their officers. On my word, we ride!’

She wheeled the courser back, her eyes trained on the gate, her mind willing it to open. 

_ Come on, come on, come on- _

A great crack  reverberated around the swampland and the door shuddered. She braced herself. 

The gates of Moat  Cailin swung open.

‘Now!’


	17. The White Wolf

Empress darted down the road, far ahead of the other riders. Sansa’s body was flattened across the horse’s back, her hair let loose behind her. After the year slowly dragging an army behind them, she relished in the speed, taking in the sound of horse’s hooves crashing onto the dirt, the whip of the cold wind on her exposed skin and the emptiness stretching before her. 

The road to White Harbour felt like the journey from her room to privy compared to their stretch Northwards and Sansa was almost disappointed when her small crew arrived so quickly.  Oberyn and Uma remained at Moat  Cailin where the men were garrisoned and Brienne, Ser  Garlan and Margaery continued with her. Before Sansa had left, she’d never seen men so glad for a roof over their head. She’d only stayed a night herself, after the causeway was taken; while her body ached for rest, she couldn’t help but think of how close they were to their destination. 

They passed through White Harbour swiftly, the Northmen let her through, mumbling between one another as she passed. She tried to catch their conversation: House  Manderly had supported her brother when he rode South yet word had caught her that they had declared for House Bolton. 

‘Declare for House Bolton? That Bastard?’ When they arrived at the New Castle, Lord Wyman had seen them immediately and nearly keeled over when she told her of her concerns. The Lord of White Harbour was as large and old as Sansa remembered but his mind remained sharp and his smile broad. ‘He starved poor Lady  Hornwood \- we were set to marry, you know?’

‘Then why did you hang Davos Seaworth?’ Sansa had seen the corpse fluttering at the gates. Locals were eager to tell her the story of the Hand of Stannis Baratheon seeking help from the Manderlys but losing his life instead. 

‘That Onion Knight? He’s not dead. The man up there was already up for execution, just fiddled with the body to resemble the old pirate. I needed to keep peace with the  Freys and  Boltons , they still had my son.’ His face took on a shade of grey. Sansa knew well that he had lost one son in the ongoing wars and the other almost slipped away too. 

‘And now? Where does House  Manderly stand?’ 

‘With you of course!’ His glee returned and his chins shook as he pulled close towards her, clapping a thick hand on her shoulder. ‘Robb was our King and he was killed dishonourably, Gods protect him. That makes you his successor, with what happened to your brothers.’ 

‘House Stark will remember this, my Lord.’ 

‘Aye, and if you beat that bastard, the North won’t easily forget you.’

She stayed with him two more days, sending word back to Moat  Cailin that they’d be travelling onwards to the Wall. Sansa and Lord Wyman fell into deep discussions after his loyalty was affirmed, providing them with the ship to travel North and the promise of more for their journey South. He also sent half his forces to Moat Cailin and would send more when word came for them to march North. She thanked him as much as she was able and promised to stay a few days to enjoy a feast in her honour and a tour of the port the following day. 

She enjoyed the company of the Manderlys, it was a change to be surrounded by those so joyous after months of gloom and boredom. Margaery bloomed before them, filling the Northmen’s minds with stories of Highgarden and enough salacious court gossip to fill a novel. Sansa almost feared Margaery wouldn’t come North with her but, when the time came, she made the journey to the harbour with Ser Garland and Brienne. 

Before she boarded, Lord  Manderly called to her from the harbour. 

‘A moment, if you will.’ 

Sansa waved a hand to Margaery and skipped back down the gangway where the fat lord awaited her. He grasped hold of her hands, making them look like a child’s in his palm, pulling her close and leaning forwards. 

‘You cannot fight Bolton with the  Dornish , you know that?’

Sansa blinked in confusion. ‘ Oberyn Martell has promised me his forces, what do you mean?’

‘I’m sure Martell is as honourable as they come.’ A hint of sarcasm slipped into his tone. ‘But it is not him I am worried about. House  Manderly is very considerate, but don’t except the others Lords to be so  accommodating .’

‘I’m Robb’s heir, rightful Wardeness. Why would they have a problem with me?’

‘You’ve been gone too long, princess. Some might say the  Lannisters brought you up more than the Starks.’

Sansa jumped backwards, wrenching her hands from him. ‘How dare you! The  Lannisters kept me prisoner, they did not raise me.’ Her eyes blazed but he remained calm.

‘As I said, we understand your situation. But think of it from our perspective: Stark’s heir spends much of her life in the Southern courts, marries a Lannister and then marches North with the army of Dorne, pretty much the most Southern a man can get.’ 

‘What are you saying?’ 

‘I don’t know, just think on it on the trip North. The last thing anyone wants if for you to come this far to be rejected in favour of your brother.’ 

Sansa furrowed her brow, ‘Jon?’ 

Lord  Manderly only shrugged his shoulders, smiling reassuringly. ‘I’ll see you again at Winterfell.’ 

‘Winterfell-’ Her voice trailed off. She forced her face into some  semblance of happiness and departed, taking slow, deliberate steps back towards the ship. 

_ Would the North prefer Ned Stark’s bastard over his daughter?  _ All she’d wanted was to get home, reclaim Winterfell and kill Cersei Lannister. Winterfell was more than her home though, it was her birth-right and, however much she’d come to miss Jon, she would never let him steal it from her. 

‘Lord Commander?’ Jon Snow was seated in his chambers, labouring over a desk full of letters when the squire tapped at his door. With a huff of cold air, he raised his head and turned to the boy.

‘Just Jon now.’ He gestured to his packed belongings. He could see no other option than to leave the Night’s Watch after what he’d witnessed, after the betrayal of his own brothers. He’d expected more of an outcry from the men but, after a few weak attempts at discouraging him, his friends knew he was set and others made no comment. He would have left the castle already, if it weren’t for the state of the North. Stannis Baratheon was dead and the  Boltons ruled supreme from the  Dreadfort to Moat Cailin. Where could the bastard son of Ned Stark find sanctuary in a world brimming with enemies?

At least his extended stay gave him a chance to see his successor in action.  Eddison Tollet , or Dolorous  Edd as he had come to be known, found the shoes of the 999 th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch  surprisingly comfortable. He was well known and largely respected by his brothers and, despite his  pessimistic outlook, remained fair and just in his command. Jon was almost envious of the ease with which Castle Black fell back into place; their forces were sparse but after long months of quartering Stannis’ men, the keep felt almost the same as when he’d first joined (except for the wildlings roaming the courtyard). 

‘Word from our scouts, a small party is approaching from Eastwatch.’ 

Jon stood to face the boy, barely ten and four. He couldn’t stand to look at him for long; he reminded him too much of Olly-  _ my greatest failure.  _

‘You don’t have to tell me anymore, Pate. Lord  Tollet is Lord Commander now.’ He turned back to his papers, pulling them into a bundle and  tying them together for his journey. 

‘Lord Commander knows, told me to tell you. He said you’d want to know what the scouts saw.’ 

Jon looked up, ‘so?’

‘Oh, um. They bore your banner,  m’lord . Your father’s banner, I mean. A grey direwolf.’ 

_ A  _ _ direwolf _ _ ?  _ Jon turned fully to face him but the boy said nothing more. ‘Thank you, I’ll be down soon.’ The boy skittered away and pulled the door shut behind him.

At the click of the door closing, Jon sprang forwards, reaching for his  swordbelt and cloak before dragging his hands through his hair.  _ I hadn’t realised it had grown so long.  _ While he readied himself, his thoughts ran away with motions of who would dare bare the Stark  sigil after the victory of the  Boltons. _ Why would they be travelling from  _ _ Eastwatch _ _ \- they couldn’t be a black brother or a stray Baratheon.  _ Even in the wider North, he couldn’t think of any House that would run the risk of declaring for House Stark when all the Starks were either dead, missing, hundreds of leagues away or a bastard. Instinctively, he tapped the bastard blade at his hip and set out from his chambers into the cold below. 

The courtyard was busy with bodies; brothers training in one corner, smoke spilling from the forge, wildings sparring and loitering and a great crowd assembling near the gates. It seemed word of the new arrivals had spread quickly and everyone was eager to see who was behind the  direwolf banner. 

‘Little crow!’ Tormund  Giantbane nearly collided with him and he barrelled across the yard, ‘you still here?’ 

‘Aye.’ Jon replied coldly, continuing forward. He was sick of the constant reminders of his failures to actually leave the Night’s Watch as he promised.

‘They say a wolf has come from the east, do you know them?’

Jon sighed, ‘I know as much as everyone else and I’m just as curious too.’ 

Edd spotted them from the crowd and moved the men beside so they could stand beside him at the front. The gates had been let open but it was lined with crossbows and Jon saw that every man around them had his sword drawn. 

The Lord Commander spotted him looking, ‘just a precaution. Never know who these wolves could be. Anyone can fly a flag.’ 

Amongst the crowd, he could pick out Ser Davos Seaworth, accompanied by the  Greyjoys who had at least had their bounds removed. Ser Davos had gone with his King to  Deepwood Motte where they’d taking Asha Greyjoy hostage and, when Stannis bid him to return North, he’d taken her back with him. Stannis had worried that, in the carnage of battle, she’d escape but Davos confided in Jon upon his arrival that the old pirate had grown  fond of the seafaring girl with no home to go back to. 

Theon had arrived soon after that, having escaped from Ramsey Bolton with his new wife. When word reached  Jon that Arya Stark had been brought to Castle Black, he’d thrown himself from his bed and couldn’t remember making it down to the courtyard so quickly. When he’d seen the girl though, he was certain it wasn’t his sister and she soon admitted her true identity, Jeyne Poole, Sansa’s old companion. 

Theon had been  adamant that he was Lord Balon’s son but the man before him was nothing like the ward Jon had grown up beside. His memories of Theon mostly consisted of him and Robb doing nearly everything together, always accompanied by his wicked grin and crazed ideas. The man standing before his was emaciated, stinking of piss and missing several fingers, and as Jon suspected, much more else besides. 

When he had Asha confirm that it was Theon, although initially she was unconvinced, Jon had half a mind to execute him where he stood. He’d heard the tales of his betrayal of Robb, of the fate of Bran and Rickon and of the very reason that the Bolton’s now held Winterfell. He stayed his blade and let Theon tell his story and, somehow, believed the shrivelled man that his half-brothers had been spared and hadn’t been seen for years. The man trembled as he spoke and couldn’t look Jon in the eye; he couldn’t find any reason why Theon would lie now years later. 

In the crowd, he looked to be in finer spirits. They’d provided him with fresh, thick  woolen clothes and, slowly, he was beginning to fill them out. Asha too was wearing spare Night’s Watch black’s but somehow the  masculine clothes suited her well. While she stood, she was mumbling into Theon’s ear, who grinned at whatever joke she told, both almost normal. She’d even tried to escape far less since word of Stannis’ death spread around the castle. She knew well they couldn’t keep them there forever. 

‘Any news, Lord Commander?’ Jon turned back to Edd.

‘Don’t you ‘Lord Commander’ me.’  Edd scalded with a smirk. ‘And no. Between you and me, scout took one look at them and bolted. Bloody craven.’ 

‘Few more moments and he could’ve caught sight of them.’ 

‘Aye, but here we are, anyway.  Wanna bet?’ 

‘I’m not in the mood for wagers.’ Jon focused on the gates, willing someone to appear before them. Something occurred to him. He let out a high whistle, men turning to him while he waited. Before long, from beyond the gate, Ghost padded towards him, muzzle red with a fresh kill. 

‘Sorry to disturb your hunt,’ he mumbled, scratching behind the  direwolf’s ear. ‘I’ve got a job for you.’ 

Jon closed his eyes tight and thought hard of ghost below him. He’d only ever  warged into him once before and he didn’t even realise he’d been doing it until it was over. He’d had dreams though, so real he could swear he could taste fresh deer or smelt as dogs can. 

When he opened his eyes, he could see himself standing above him, eyes rolled back but standing perfectly upright as if nothing had changed. In the body of Ghost, he was aware of everything around him but could easily focus in on whatever interested him in that moment. For example, now, that included the kitchens and the sweet smell of roasted hare. 

_ No Ghost, later.  _ Jon willed the  direwolf back beyond the gate and he soon broke into a run, coursing down the road and into the trees. There were so many scents within the woodlands it was hard to pick which Jon needed to follow but Ghost’s legs moved beneath him without thought, following one particular that had stood out from the rest. Ghost stopped for a moment, panting hard, and inhaled deeply. In  amidst all else around, Jon caught the smell that Ghost had latched onto so quickly. 

_ Lemons. _

Jon urged him forward, a sense of desperation falling over him and as the smell caught in his throat. There had only ever been one person he’d known who could smell like lemons even days without bathing. Her name had cropped up when considering who could be  wielding their banner but he’d dismissed the idea quickly, not wanting to get his hopes up. The last he heard of his half-sister, she fled King’s Landing after the murder of the King. He’d heard a few days after that news that it was Sansa herself who had driven the knife into him but he’d laughed off the suggestion.  _ Sansa knew how to hurt feelings but she baulked at the thought of violence.  _

He presumed the dwarf was the kingslayer and had freed Sansa when he ran. He remembered Tyrion Lannister fondly from their trip to the Wall together.  _ He wouldn’t hurt Sansa; he has more sense than that.  _

While he’d been deep in thought, Ghost had come to a stop at the sound of voices. Jon urged to him cautiously move to get a good view but not to alert them of his presence. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away. 

Ghost creeped through the undergrowth, finding a low spot to crouch as the sound of hoofbeats grew louder. At once, a flock of birds scattered into the sky as four horses thundered past. The horse that passed closest to Ghost skidding to a halt, thrashing and huffing out cloud of hot air. He still couldn’t see the riders but heard the others horses ahead returning and the sound of feet dropping down to the floor. Footsteps slowly approached his position whilst the others remained stuck in their positions. Ghost quietly sniffed and the fragrance of lemons was near overwhelming, almost sending Jon back into his own body. He held on, straining to see or hear anything. 

‘Must’ve been an animal, my lady.’ A voice called out, back with the horses. ‘Now we’ve stopped, perhaps we should take a rest, Castle Black isn’t far, we’ll still make it before nightfall.’

The figure closest to them turned on their heels, ‘no. I have wasted too much time coming North, we’re too close to stop now.’ She moved away then and, a few moments later, the horses began again. 

He hadn’t been able to see her but Jon was absolutely certain what he heard. 

_ Sansa _ . 

He was back in his body again, beside  Edd and Tormund who had barely moved since Ghost had left. 

‘ What’d’ya see?’ Tormund had seen  wargs enough with the free folk and appeared unaffected by Jon’s absence. 

‘Have them lower their weapons, my Lord. There’s no danger.’ Jon faced Edd. 

‘You sure?’ The Lord Commander appeared uncertain but at Jon’s  persistence he shrugged, ‘stop giving me those eyes! Fine, on your head.’ He shouted to the men lining the gates who, some reluctantly, lowered the crossbows as the men on the ground sheathed the weapons. Then  began the waiting. 

Jon quickly tired of it. He knew what was coming and saw no sense in prolonging the wait. With a start, he pulled away from the crowds towards the stables. Several horses were saddled and he picked the closest, a white mare, and pulled himself up. With a shout, he cleared through the crowds and once again, belted through the gates down the path he recalled Ghost taking. He had only been riding a few minutes when he heard a disturbance in the distance as a set of horses beat through the forest debris. He pulled the reins hard and brought the mare to a halt. He dismounted, took a few steps forward, and waited. 

Four horses broke through the trees, stopping abruptly when they saw him standing before them. There was still a fair distance between them but they were close enough for him to recognise her, sitting atop a great black mare, her Tully red hair sitting in a neat braid at her shoulder. He heard the sound of swords being unsheathed and caught a glint of the red blade wielded by the largest of the group, directed at him. She turned to her companions and spoke to them and the weapons were soon lowered. Their eyes were trained on each-other. She dropped from her horse to the ground with a light thump then began running, at full speed in his direction. Without thinking, he broke into a run as well, his legs pumping as fast as they could as the distanced between them decreased. 

With just a moment to brace himself, the full force of her body crashed into him and he stumbled back, just managing to keep his balance. Instinctively, he held her in his arms whilst hers wrapped around his neck and for a moment, they remained in that embrace, the rest of the world melting away. 

Eventually, she pulled away and her eyes darted over his features as his hand rested on her cheek. 

‘Sansa?’

Sansa didn’t think voyages could get worse than her trip from King’s Landing to Dorne. The North proved her wrong. The great ship was ten times the size of the  Oberyn Martell’s  pleasureboat and built to withstand storms, but that didn’t stop it from letting out wild creaks every time a large enough wave hit and shuddering when the gale picked up. Lady Brienne and Ser  Garlan , although often complaining, managed through but Margaery seemed to grew greyer with each day and Sansa was sure she retched up more than she ate. 

Eventually, after skilfully manoeuvring towards  Eastwatch by-the-sea without coming too close to the dreaded Isle of Skagos, the ship entered port and everyone’s stomachs fared better for it. The men of the Night’s Watch were surprised, to say the least, by their arrival and greeted them with blades and bolts instead of warm welcomes. Sansa couldn’t blame them, she supposed the only ships who passed by here were traders, and no traders would dock here into spring, or wildlings. They were certainly relieved to find them non-threatening and allowed them to say for a night, furnishing them with fresh horses for the journey west. 

Sansa thanked them for their generosity,  especially for their stew, but refused the horse for herself. She’d brought Empress with them by sea, although the mare seemed just as thrilled about the idea as Margaery. Sansa had grown close to the horse gifted to her at Dorne, she was swift, strong but perfectly calm. Even when they passed a wolf pack on their way to White Harbour, Empress didn’t stray from her course. 

After  Eastwatch came the long journey to Castle Black in the shadow of the ice wall that rose thousands of feet into the air. They passed several other Night’s Watch keeps but those were all abandoned and decrepit. By their looks, not even the Baratheon army stopped at them when they made the same journey. Stannis’ trip West made Sansa’s much easier; his thousands of men cut a clear path through the trees so, although none had ever travelled this far North, there was no chance of getting lost. 

She pushed the horses hard every day, overly eager to reach Castle Black, regretting every stop they took, every night they slept through when they could’ve stayed in the saddle. 

‘We won’t get there overnight.’ Brienne had cautioned her, ‘ Eastwatch is 42 leagues from Castle Black.’ 

Sansa didn’t pay much attention and pushed onwards. They made the journey in less than a week. 

On the final day, she awoke with the sun and was ready to leave in minutes, forcing the others up and back onto their horses. Brienne grumbled but Sansa knew she was looking forward to a real bed, feather or straw, and food beside the hares  Eastwatch had gifted them. 

Before they set off, Sansa unravelled her pack and assembled her  direwolf banner that the  Manderlys had strung up when Robb was named King. Since his death and the Bolton’s betrayal, they’d taken them down but stored them, waiting for their chance to hang them once again. Margaery had agreed to be her flag-bearer and rode beside her. They hadn’t bothered showing it before then but now, so close to Castle Black, they didn’t want to be mistaken for wildling  reavers or bandits. 

They were making fine progress when Empress nearly threw Sansa off her back,  whinnying and breathing hard, eyes darting towards the undergrowth. The others had carried on but wheeled back around and began inspecting the area whilst Margaery spoke softly to the horse. 

Sansa followed Empress’ eyeline and peered into the bushes that lined the side of the Baratheon path. She could hear the laboured pants of an animal desperate to keep quiet. She reached down and pulled the top of the bush apart, as slowly as she could, and leant downwards to look inside. Laying beneath her, inches from her feet, she could see a large body moving up and down, covered in thick, bright white fur. She didn’t think the beast had seen her and she quietly stepped away as Brienne called out to her. With one more glance to where the creature had lain, she begged her group to keep going and mounted her horse again and drove her forwards. 

Although she hadn’t been able to see the animal’s full body, she knew it had to be too large for a wolf and obviously more threatening to spook Empress. 

_ A direwolf.  _

In the final sprint, they pushed hard, straying from the beaten path and pushing through the trees upon Brienne’s instruction. It wasn’t wise to travel on the roads with the  Boltons so near. 

‘Stop!’ Brienne called out at once. She’d taken the lead as they neared the Castle but down had come to a complete halt and was staring into the distance. Sansa pulled Empress’ reins and followed Brienne’s gaze until, she too, saw the figure standing still before them. 

He was standing beside a horse, completely still, and staring in their direction. From that distance, Sansa couldn’t distinguish his features but she could tell he was dark of hair and roughly bearded and-

_ Is it just a trick of perspective or is he quite short?  _

It came together in her head then and she felt foolish for not seeing it sooner. The  direwolf in the bushes should have given it away but she needed him to stand in front of her to believe it. 

_ Jon? _

Brienne and Ser  Garlan protested but she swung her leg off her mare’s back and slipped onto the ground. With a nod to Margaery, she picked up her feet and ran, not caring where she stepped or how much of an idiot it made her appear. Before she knew it, he was running too, in her direction and she collided with him sooner than she expected, nearly knocking him on his back. Her cheeks already wet and flushed, she threw her arms around his neck and clung tight as he held her, her cheek pressed against his. 

Reluctantly, she pulled away and met his grey eyes, now barely able to control her soft sobs. He pressed a gloved hand to her cheek and said her name. 

‘Jon!’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unless I have a sudden change of mind, which I am no stranger to, there should be three more chapters in this book of the series (and maybe an epilogue if I'm feeling generous. Hope everyone is well and working through the boredom!


	18. The Little Bear

‘There’s a few things you should know before we go in.’ 

Jon and Sansa took the lead on their horses after they finally decided to make their way to Castle Black. Sansa introduced him to her companions and promised to explain how they came into her service when they were settled. As they emerged from the woods back onto the King’s Road towards the collapsing fortress, Jon wheeled his horse in front of her, bringing her to a halt. 

‘Oh?’ 

Then he began the long ordeal of explaining much of what he had witnessed as a brother of the Night’s Watch and its Lord Commander. He explained their trip North, his brief membership of the free folk, the battle in the Castle and the ultimate settling of wildlings South of the Wall. He mentioned Stannis Baratheon’s arrival and departure, the Greyjoys and all else he could think of. He struggled over the tale of Hardhome and the white walkers but she asked why the wildlings needed to be settled so he had to explain. The rest of her companions had long caught up and heard most of what he had to say, exchanging dark looks when he brought up the approaching danger. 

‘Theon Greyjoy is here?’ Her eyes blazed and she went to drive her horse forward, ‘why haven’t you killed him yet?’ 

He hadn’t expected that much rage from his sister though her anger was understandable. ‘I heard him and Asha out. I couldn’t enact justice without giving them the chance. You should do the same.’ 

‘I’d sooner see him dead but-’ she met his eyes, ‘if you say so. Let’s go.’ 

‘I thought you’d be more troubled about the Night King than Theon Greyjoy?’ He quirked as she pulled on the reins, ‘or you’d deny it completely.’ 

‘Why would you make something like that up?’ She looked at the castle in the distance, ‘it is troubling but I know we can overcome it, once we have Winterfell.’ 

‘So, you’ll stay until the dead are truly gone? We’ve no time for you taking out revenge on King’s Landing.’ 

‘I aim to be Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North. I’d be a pretty poor one if I abandoned my people to the Long Winter to deal with matters of the South. I’ll be here, alongside you.’ 

They both smiled and rode on. Sansa chose to not to mention what truly convinced her that the threat was real. She recalled the visions she’d seen while at King’s Landing. The white frost covering Winterfell, King’s Landing and, she supposed, all else in between. 

As they made the final short journey, she turned to him. ‘Stannis Baratheon is dead? I was hoping he’d take Winterfell for us, save us the fight.’ 

‘I don’t think it would be so simple as that, but I’ll explain later. We’re here.’ 

Sansa looked forward at the men assembled beneath the gate of Castle Black. She was expecting a great fortress for the home of the Night’s Watch but she’d heard of their gradual decline over the years so the collapsing towers and small number of men in blacks made sense. 

‘Lady Stark, I presume? It’s an honour.’ One man, at the centre of the crowd, stepped forward before her horse. He held out a hand and she accepted it, letting him help her down from Empress. Like his brothers beside him, the man was thin, of rough face and drowning in black rags. _ As _ _ Wardeness _ _ of the North, I wouldn’t let them fall into this dire state. _

‘Sansa, this is Eddison Tollet, Lord Commander.’ Jon had jumped down beside her and the horses were taken to the stables to allow her companions to pass through. 

Sansa turned to him, ‘I thought you were Lord Commander?’ 

‘Not anymore.’ He and Lord Tollet exchanged a look and she decided to pry for an explanation when they were alone. She was certain the oaths of the Night’s Watch included service for life. 

‘Kissed by fire!’ The man beside the Lord Commander jumped forward to greet her. He stood from the others, draped in a mismatch of furs instead of all black and wearing an expression of unbridled excitement. It didn’t take her long to deduce he was one of the wildlings. She took a step back, looking to Jon for support. 

‘This is Tormund Giantsbane, of the free folk. Respected despite his appearance.’ Jon explained casually. 

‘And this is Jon Snow, respected despite his small cock.’ The wildling responded. Sansa raised her eyebrow and looked between the two men but the jest went over her head, which was odd as she had several inches on both of them. ‘Pardon m’lady, didn’t mean to be vulgar.’ Tormund grinned, ‘for us, those born with hair like ours is lucky. We call them ‘kissed by fire’.’ 

Sansa had presumed he was talking about her face but she smiled to know he wasn’t. ‘Thank you, I have had remarkable luck this past year. Are you the wildling’s- excuse me – free folk’s leader?’ 

‘The free folk have no leader.’ Tormund explained with pride. 

‘But since Mance Rayder, they respect Tormund as if he was.’ Jon interjected with a grin. Sansa was glad to see her bastard brother had made powerful friends in the North, even if he was a wildling. In considering him, Sansa’s eyes fell upon Giantsbane, who was currently distracted with something behind her. She turned to follow whatever had caught his attention and couldn’t help but giggle to see Brienne’s expression of horror behind her. 

‘How long will you be staying here, my Lady. Your welcome here, of course, but it’s hardly what you’re used to.’ The Lord Commander stepped in. 

‘Not long,’ she assured, ‘I can’t keep my army waiting forever.’ 

Jon started. ‘Army?’ 

She smirked, ‘we have much to discuss, is there somewhere we can talk?’ 

‘Have my solar.’ Edd looked to Jon, lowering his voice. ‘I’ll send food and wine up.’ 

The crowd had mostly dissolved by then, only a few free folk remaining, speaking to Tormund who kept glancing over in their direction as they passed. Sansa was sure she even caught him winking at Brienne, to the great woman’s immediate disgust. Jon led them inside, up several flights of stairs and into the top of the tower where the Lord Commander was installed. The solar was a small room, a single wooden table filling the space and a large fireplace already stoked. Margaery and Garlan instantly surrounded the flames, peeling off snow-sodden gloves to warm their hands and shaking off the water on their hair and cloaks. Sansa had to admit she was glad for the fire too: even in Winterfell it never grew this cold. 

Minutes after they had settled, Brienne, Ser Garlan and Margaery found themselves at the table with Sansa and Jon standing to the side, Jon looking to Sansa expectantly. It was then her time to explain all he had missed. As she started, she didn’t realise all that she had been through and seen since they had last seen each-other in Winterfell but the sun was setting in the sky by the time her story had reached its final stages in Eastwatch. When she was done, she sat herself in the window seat as Jon paced silently. He’d been patient throughout, nodding at the right times, asking small questions of clarification but not saying much. She expected more from him though she didn’t know what exactly. Horror? Disgust? Pride? He continued to pace the floor and no one else dared disrupt his thoughts. 

Just as Sansa feared she’d go insane from his silence, it was broken by a knocking at the door. Brienne answered, hand on her sword hilt, and stepped aside to let a young boy with trays of warm soup and hot spiced wine past. He set the food down upon the table and, perhaps sensing the tension, skittered out. 

Only now realising her hunger, Sansa sat at the table and set out five hollowed out hunks of stale bread, filling them with the soup before taking a spoon to her own. The liquid burnt as it passed down her throat but she didn’t care, it was best thing she’d ever tasted. 

‘This is good soup.’ She glanced at Jon who still refused to join them, she couldn’t understand his confusion. 

‘Tastes like the inside of Old Nan’s pies.’ He still remained standing but his hard expression softened. 

‘With the peas and onions?’ 

He nodded, taking a seat. 

‘We should never have left Winterfell, I want to scream at myself, ‘Don’t go, you idiot’.’ 

Jon didn’t look up from his food, ‘how could we know?’ 

Sansa let his words settle, she had no answer for him. She reached forward and took his hand resting on the table. ‘I was awful to you. I was an arse.’ 

‘No, you weren’t.’ 

‘Yes, I was.’ Her commanding tone forced him to meet her gaze, her eyes were soft, sorrowful. ‘Can you forgive me?’ 

‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ He shrugged spooning another mouthful. 

‘Forgive me.’ 

He sighed, setting down his spoon to cover her hand with his other, ‘I forgive you. Happy?’ 

‘Very.’ 

Sansa sat back in her chair and they both chuckled. While they finished their food and began on the wine, Margaery asked Jon questions of the Night’s Watch and Brienne turned to the window, cursing when she found the red-headed wildling watching them from below. 

‘Will you come with us when we march on Winterfell?’ Sansa began after their food was cleared away and Margaery and Ser Garland had fallen away into the rooms set out for them. Brienne remained in a chair by the fire, honing her blade. 

‘I can’t stay here, after what happened.’ 

Sansa was desperate to know what had happened and why he hadn’t explained it yet when she’d told him every detail. It had to be something to do with the reason he had been allowed to disregard his vows so eagerly. _ If he wants me know, he’ll tell me eventually. Or else I can find out for myself. _

‘Anyway’, he grinned, taking a swig from his cup, ‘if I don’t watch over you, father’s ghost will come back and murder me.’ 

Sansa could almost fell Ned Stark nodding in agreement. 

‘I need an army.’ Sansa admitted. Brienne and Jon both looked to her in confusion. ‘I know I have the Dornish but Lord Manderly warned me against using them and, on the journey, I’ve considered his advice- I think I should follow it.’ 

‘But Sansa?’ Brienne rose from her seat, but Sansa waved it off. 

‘I know-I know. It is a shame not to use them but I can’t be seen as the Southern girl wrenching Winterfell from Northern Lords with a Southern army. I have men from House Reed and Manderly but that won’t be enough to face the Boltons.’ 

Jon’s face shifted darkly. ‘So that’s why you’re really here then; you think I can provide you an army? Sorry to be a disappointment but I have nothing to give. Even if I were still Lord Commander, the Night’s Watch are sworn from interfering on the matters of Lords and Ladies.’ 

‘How many wildlings did you save?’ 

‘They won’t fight for me.’ 

‘They owe you their lives as far as I can tell. That Tormund respects you too, if you look beyond the insults.’ She leant towards him, ‘I can see they’re not foolish. You say you’ve let them take up home in the Gift, how long will Ramsay Bolton allow that?’ 

He said nothing so she continued. ‘Winterfell is our home; we must fight for it.’ 

He cast his eyes towards the flames, ‘I’m tired of fighting.’ 

She took her place beside him, slipping her arm into his. ‘As am I but I won’t let the people responsible for Robb’s death sit in the place he should be sitting. We’re all he has left.’ 

Jon considered the ebbing of the dying flames before releasing the tension in his broad shoulders. ‘I’ll speak with Tormund, but I can’t promise anything.’ He conceded. In thanks, she tightened her arm as they watched the fire gutter out completely. 

The next morning Jon took her to speak with the Greyjoys. Asha and Theon were breaking their fast in their cell, talking quietly amongst themselves when she was admitted. She felt half a child again, standing beside her older brother, peering at them but not daring to move any closer. 

‘Sansa?’ Theon’s voice was so familiar, like a relic lost in time. She half expected Robb to be somewhere nearby, playing at swordplay or laughing with the kitchen wenches. She knew his words well but his body was that of a stranger to her. Thin where he’d once been muscled, hunched where he’d once stood tall. Even despite all that he had done, it hurt her to see someone she’d grown up alongside looking so hollow. 

‘Theon, Asha.’ Her voice wasn’t as cold as she hoped it would be. _ He killed my brothers, I cannot pity him. _

‘Tell her what you told me.’ Jon pulled back from the room, allowing Sansa to stand in front. 

‘Tell me why I shouldn’t gut you where you stand.’ Sansa’s hand lingered over her knife. 

‘I didn’t kill them, Bran and Rickon. I would never hurt them, never hurt any of you. They were two farm boys. We burnt the bodies so no one would know. Really, they escaped and we never saw nor heard a whisper about them since.’ His voice was strained. Sansa had never seen a man so meek. 

‘We raided the North on our father’s wishes. We killed some Northmen, I’ll admit it, but we never raised out blades to any nobles.’ His sister added, wiping at her mouth with the back of her sleeve. 

‘You betrayed Robb!’ She thrust a finger towards him. ‘He trusted you and your turned from him as soon as he gave you the chance! You were his friend, Theon, his brother.’ 

‘But always lesser than.’ Theon rose from his seat, his voice now unwavering. ‘He was my brother, but not my kin. My father bid me to raid so I did it. I never meant for what happened to Robb, you know that Sansa.’ 

‘But if you’d stuck to your word, it may not have happened. Winterfell certainly wouldn’t be in the hands of the Boltons and I wouldn’t be here today.’ She tried to blink away the threat of tears. 

‘My brother knows his sins.’ Asha sent her him a pitiful look, ‘but he’s paid for his crimes, more than once over. You should’ve seen him when he arrived here with that girl. I didn’t know him.’ 

‘What did he do, Bolton I mean.’ Sansa’s voice was quiet, half not wanting to hear the answer. 

‘Took me as a slave. Made me his ‘reek’, his monster. He flayed off parts of my skins, removed some fingers and toes and my um-.’ As he spoke, his eyes drifted, staring at the wall. 

‘His cock.’ Asha finished for him. 

‘I didn’t know, I’m sorry. We’re going to kill that bastard.’ 

‘I couldn’t do it, when we left.’ He brought his attention back to the room. ‘He was still my master and all I cared about was getting Jeyne out safe,’ 

Sansa stopped. ‘Jeyne?’ 

Jon cursed. ‘I was meaning to tell you yesterday, I forgot. Seems the Lannisters sent her posing as Arya to marry Ramsey. We can see her if you like, the shaking’s stopped now.’ 

Her vision blurred with tears, ‘Jeyne Poole?’ She met Theon’s eyes, ‘you saved Jeyne?’ 

‘Aye. Seeing her like that was the last push, brought me back to my senses, made me remember who I was.’ The hint of a small smile played upon his lips. 

Sansa made her way towards him in the confined room, her eyes trained on his. When she reached him, she balled her hands into fists and beat them against his chest, letting out a tirade of curses aimed at him as she released the pent-up sobs. He took the beating, without complaint but as she tired, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. Eventually, she relented, and let him hold her as she spent her tears into his doublet, his gloved hand cradling her head. 

From the other side of the door, Jon coughed and Sansa pulled herself away, wiping at her cheeks. 

‘We’re marching to Winterfell, will you join us?’ 

‘We’ve nothing to offer you Starks. Stannis put my ships to the torch.’ Asha took a deep swig from her flagon as she addressed them. Sansa noticed she was wearing a man’s tunic and breeches in the faded grey of the Wall. 

‘You won’t be much use at Winterfell, although I won’t turn away any fighting men or women. I won’t stop at Winterfell though. Once we’ve claimed it back, I’ll be turning the men South to Cersei Lannister. The trip North took too long, we lost too much time. House Manderly has offered me ships but I need someone I trust commanding them. Someone who knows their way around a deck.’ 

The Greyjoy princess scoffed, ‘Theon’s barely got his sea-legs, you can’t expect him to lead your fleet.’ Even Theon seemed to agree with that. 

‘I don’t mean Theon, I want you.’ Sansa looked down upon her. ‘Your Uncle Euron has pledged himself to Cersei Lannister, the same Uncle that robbed you of your crown and chased you from your home. I know how that feels and I mean for you to enact the same justice as I will. Take me to Kings Landing and his head is yours. I’ll swear it if I must.’ 

Asha glanced upwards, forming her judgement. ‘No need. You had me at killing the Bolton Bastard. If I can help off the lion Queen and you’ll help me kill that fucker - how could I refuse such a sweet deal?’ She leapt forward and grasped Sansa’s wrist firmly with a wink. 

When they’d finished making arrangements with the Greyjoys, Jon took Sansa up a flight of stairs until they reached one of the more comfortable rooms in Castle Black, one set aside for important guests. 

He pulled her aside before showing her in. ‘She’s still weak and she’d not like you remember. Just a warning.’ She grabbed his arm and gave it a light squeeze. Jon pushed open the door and looked around the chamber for Jeyne. On a chair, bundled in layers of furs and old clothes, he spotted her. 

‘Jeyne?’ He called softly. Slowly her head moved in their direction. When her eyes fell upon Sansa, they opened wide and she jumped from her seat, casting aside the layers to run to her. Like Theon, she was beginning to look better although she was taking longer about it. When she arrived, she was almost skeletal but several weeks with them and her cheeks had rounded and currently, were tinged with warmth. She still kept up here to herself, after he assured her she was free to roam the keep, but, when he visited, she still made light conversation and smiled. _ As long as she’s content, I’m happy. _He knew that she wasn’t Arya, just another girl used by the Lannisters, but she’d lived his sister’s life and perhaps that was what made him fond of her. That and she was a piece of home in a frozen, ruined castle. 

Sansa met her and they embraced by the fire then quickly fell into chatter, as if they were back at Winterfell. Both were starkly different though and Jon doubted they could be such inseparable friends as before. 

He left them to their discussions and continued down into the courtyard, wrapping his arms around himself as the cold chill hit him. 

‘My prince, a moment?’ As he walked, the Red Woman had fallen into step with him. From Stannis’ party, only her and Ser Davos remained. He liked the onion knight but had warmed less to the priestess. 

‘So long as you don’t call me ‘prince’.’ He didn’t stop to talk, he had far more important things to discuss with Tormund. 

‘You are the Prince That Was Promised, Azor Azai reborn. You shouldn’t be ashamed of what you are, what you will become.’ The ruby at her throat glowed in the white air. 

‘You thought Stannis was the Prince until recently.’ Jon wasn’t prepared to deal with Melisandre today. Ever since she’d brought him back, she’d not ceased in finding him and trying to push her ancient prophecy on him. _ I’m no prince and I’m certainly not Azor Azai. _

‘I made a mistake. I won’t stop regretting what became of him.’ 

Jon stopped before her; he was tired already. ‘What is it that you want, my Lady?’ 

‘Ser Davos will be travelling South with you, to Winterfell?’ 

‘Aye.’ Ser Davos had latched onto him as soon he renounced his command. The old knight was good company, a drop of normal in a sea of insanity. 

‘There is no place for me here.’ She admitted with a hint of sorrow in her voice. ‘The men here cannot understand me but you do, somewhere inside. I will go where you go, give aid where I can.’ 

Jon looked over the Red Woman. In all her beauty and lustre, there was usually a coldness to her but now that was replaced by desperation. He sighed. ‘If you must, but speak to Sansa first, Winterfell is hers. There will be no more burnings though, she won’t allow it and neither will I.’ 

A grin spread across her sharp features. ‘As you wish, my Prince. I will seek her out now.’ 

Jon went to chastise her again but she’d swept back inside before he got the chance, her red gown and cloak giving her the appearance of floating across the frozen yard. He caught the eye of Tormund across the way and let a smile return to his face. 

Sansa left Jeyne to rest. They’d been in deep discussion and she hadn’t wanted to leave her old friend but the girl was so weak, she didn’t want to wear her out too much. She promised to return before they left. As she made her way back through the castle, keeping her eye out for Margaery or Brienne, she felt eyes fall upon her and turned at once to find a woman standing before her. Head to toe in deep red finery, she moved like flames incarnate towards her, a smile plastered across her full lips. 

‘My Lady?’ The woman began in an accent of the East, ‘we have not met yet. I am Melisandre of Asshai, red priestess of the Lord of Light.’ 

‘You are the Red Woman that travelled with Stannis, burned the Godswood at Storms End, tore down the sept.’ 

‘I burnt the idols of false Gods to appease R’hllor, it is not uncommon practice in the East.’ She seemed unaffected by the accusations. 

‘And yet, your God failed you, did he not? Where was he when Stannis marched South?’ Sansa crossed her arms across her chest, bracing against the biting wind attacking them from all sides. Lady Melisandre didn’t appear to notice it. 

Her fixed smile faltered. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted in a quieter, less imposing voice, ‘I thought Stannis was the one but I must’ve been wrong and R’hllor punished me for my mistake.’ 

‘And now?’ Sansa didn’t want to push the woman; her failure was clearly still raw. 

‘For a time, I doubted myself. I questioned my faith. But I have found it again with your brother. The Lord allowed me to bring him back for a reason. Only those who are born to change the balance of light and dark are brought back, only those truly evil or truly good. Jon must be one of those so I must follow him.’ 

Sansa tried to take that all in, her mouth hanging open and her brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean you brought him back? From where?’ 

‘You didn’t know?’ She smiled weakly, ‘I’m sure he was planning to tell you when he’s ready. It is not my tale to tell.’ 

_ Damn you and damn Jon. Something happened here but no one will speak of it, like the words would bring about a curse. Or like they do not trust me with that information. _

‘What is it that you want?’ Sansa had had enough of the cold and this woman’s mysteries. 

‘I have pledged myself to your brother. He has accepted my service but advised me to seek your permission.’ 

_ So, Jon does respect me enough for this but not for whatever happened to him here? _

_ ‘ _Fine, if he’s accepted you. But-’ she took a step forward, looking down upon the slightly shorter woman, ‘there will be no burnings of people or sacred places. I do not care how much they offend you or your God. I forbid it.’ 

Lady Melisandre remained cool. ‘As you will. I will refrain.’ 

Sansa sighed. She couldn’t help but pity the woman far from home who had put her faith in the wrong man. ‘If all goes well between Jon and the wildlings, we’ll be meeting tomorrow to discuss our next steps across the North. You are welcome to join us, you were Stannis’ advisor and kept him alive far longer than any of the other Kings in these wars so your counsel must be worth something.’ 

‘Thank you, my Lady, I will be there.’ She bowed her head and departed. 

The next morning, they put Castle Black behind them. Sansa had never seen Jon in such high spirits. The threat of the Boltons coupled with their debt to Jon had been enough to sway the free folk to their side. The night before, when everyone gathered in the Lord Commander’s solar, including the Lord Commander himself, they fell in deep discussion as they drew out the path they would take through the North before they gathered near Winterfell. The Wildlings and Sansa’s Northmen from the Neck and White Harbour were still not enough for anyone to feel comfortable with their chances. Their only chance was with the other Northern houses. 

They knew from the outset that their gains would be limited. The Karstarks and the Umbers offered some of the largest and most formidable forces in the North but they had already declared for House Bolton. Sansa had been inclined to visit their Lords anyway but it had been Theon who discouraged her; he feared a trap at every turn. Instead they conceded that their only hope would be the smaller, still loyal houses that had at least remained neutral towards the Boltons. 

The night before they left, Sansa sent several ravens. One to White Harbour, instructing Lord Manderly to gather his forces and march North and the other to Moat Cailin. She’d told Jon of Lord Manderly’s advice not to call upon the Dornish and led him to believe that her letter only urged the crannogmen to join the Manderlys and explained to Prince Oberyn her decision to have them remain where they were. When Sansa picked up the quill to write the words however, she found herself unable to put them to paper. Her gut told her it was not enough, that the forces of the wildlings and lesser houses alone would never be enough to certainly defeat the Bastard. _ If we don’t defeat him, I have nothing and nowhere to go. I cannot go back South and, when winter descends, if Jon speaks the truth, nowhere bar Winterfell will be safe. _

Her father’s words stuck in her head again - ‘a true leader must put the fate of their people above their own pride, however much it hurts.’ Lord Manderly was right, if she marched with the Dornish, she may never gain the respect of the North but if she lost to Ramsay Bolton, she’d be damning her people to his tyranny instead. 

Quickly, she penned the words to paper. Calling on Oberyn to send half his forces North with the crannogmen but to travel separate from them when they met with the Manderlys. He should hold his men back and set up camp near Winterfell to await her. She might never need their support but, this way, they could be ready if she did. Carefully, she sealed her letter with a makeshift direwolf seal Margaery had etched from a plain seal and sent the two letters off into the night. She prayed the Bolton’s wouldn’t shoot them down before they found their destination. 

She told no one of her change of heart, not even Margaery, though she trusted her companion to keep her secrets. She knew that Jon would disagree too, he put his faith in the Wildings and Northmen. If it was well-placed, he wouldn’t need to know of her ploy and if he was wrong, he’d be grateful for her meddling. 

Out in the courtyard the following morning, she gave her sincerest thanks to Lord Tollet and promised him better support from Winterfell when it was reclaimed. She’d already exchanged her goodbyes with Jeyne, who was too weak for the travel, and promised her too that she’d be back for her. When she was finally seated on Empress, amongst her allies and friends, it felt surreal and she was certain she was dreaming. As always, Margaery rode beside her but now Jon was seated on the other side instead of Brienne who was next to him. Behind, Ser Garlan was speaking with Ser Davos and the Greyjoys were doing their best to ignore Melisandre who was asking them about their Drowned God. When Asha caught her eye, she rolled her eyes and scowled, leaving Sansa to muffle her laughter. Tormund rode with them for now but when they got onto the road, he planned to fall back to the rest of the free folk and ride with them. 

Jon moved his horse closer to her. ‘You were in riding leathers before, where did you get the dress?’ 

Sansa had dressed herself in a deep grey gown of thick velvet. In golden thread she’d embroidered a direwolf and in red she’d depicted the leaves of the heart tree floating across her chest. She was rather impressed with how it turned out and was glad to be wearing something more familiar and Northern than the Dornish breeches and doublet. She’d taken the time to dye the doublet a deep black and was planning on sewing a matching skirt for it when they were back at Winterfell for the journey South. 

‘I made it on the ship North. Lord Manderly took me to the White Harbour markets and bought me fabrics and thread when I told him I’d left my gowns at Moat Cailin. I won’t have time to change when we meet the Northern Houses and I want to present myself as one of them, not a Dornish pawn.’ 

‘Who knew there was such politics in dressmaking?’ He chuckled. 

‘There is politics in everything, dear brother,’ she smirked, ‘the world is much more than swords and shields.’ 

From House Hornwood, they secured 200 soldiers and a further 143 from House Mazin. They’d visited Lord Robertt Glover but he refused to declare for them, harbouring a deep hatred of the wildings they travelled alongside. Sansa had hoped, in vain, that her mother’s uncle, Ser Brynden, who held Riverrun would defeat the Freys and join her but, while at Hornwood, word reached them of his death and the Frey’s victory. 

House Mormont was the last remaining house they planned to treat with so Sansa and Jonmade the journey to Bear Island in search of the Lady of the isle. Brienne accompanied them even though Jon assured her that there was no danger with the Mormonts and that, if there was, he was capable enough to defend his sister. In truth, Sansa knew that Brienne didn’t dare remain on the mainland with Tormund Giantsbane who hadn’t left her alone on their venture South. 

The Lady of Bear Island they found was at lot younger than they expected. Sansa had forgotten the losses the house had experienced alongside Robb, leaving a child of just ten years old to rule. She sat upon a high table in her audience chambers when she received them, propped up in her seat, appearing of height with the maester and commander beside her. 

‘Welcome to Bear Island.’ Lyanna Mormont spoke in a surprisingly loud, firm voice. 

‘I am sorry for your losses my Lady, I never had the pleasure of meeting your mother or sister.’ Sansa smiled faintly at the young Lady but it was not returned. 

‘And I served under your uncle at Castle Black, Lady Lyanna. I was his steward and-’ 

‘I think we’ve had enough small talk.’ She interrupted him. ‘Why are you here?’ 

Neither had expected her to be so hostile. On their journey to the island, Jon had told Sansa of the Mormonts. When Stannis Baratheon begged their support, they refused plainly, asserting their loyalty for House Stark. This was the house she was the least anxious about yet the others had been most welcoming whilst the little Lady wore a face a permanent discontent. 

‘I read the letter you sent Stannis Baratheon when he petitioned for men. It said-’ Jon began. 

‘I remember what it said, I wrote it. ‘Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark.’ ‘ 

‘Robb is gone but we are not. House Stark needs your support; we’ve come to ask for House Mormont’s allegiance.’ Sansa took a slight step towards the table, ahead of Jon. 

‘From what I’ve heard, you my Lady, are a Lannister and your brother is a Snow. Is that so?’ She raised her eyebrows. 

‘I was not married by choice, my Lady, it was forced upon me. It was never um-’ 

‘Consummated?’ Lyanna did not flinch as most children her age would do having such a discussion. 

‘No, it wasn’t. I am a Stark. I will always be a Stark.’ 

She thought on it a moment, looking between them both. ‘You want my fighting men?’ 

Sansa nodded. ‘We have some forces of our own, of the North, but we must be certain that Ramsey Bolton cannot be allowed to keep Winterfell. He is a cruel, murderous man who doesn’t deserve my family’s seat.’ 

‘Are you not a murderer too, Lady Sansa. Was it not you who killed Joffrey Baratheon in his bed?’ 

‘It was. I did it for the North. It was Joffrey who ordered my father’s execution when all others urged him against it. I am not ashamed of what I did.’ She held Lyanna’s gaze. 

‘Ned Stark used to say whoever passes the sentence should swing the sword- my sister was only following the way of the North.’ Jon added, standing firmly beside her. 

‘Even so, I am responsible for those of Bear Island, why should I risk even one Mormont life for your war?’ 

Sansa and Jon exchanged a look and fell into silence. Neither could answer her plainly. 

From behind them, Brienne pushed herself from the wall she’d been leaning against and stepped forward. 

‘If I may, my Lady, speak for the Starks?’ 

‘I do not know you, Lady?’ 

‘Brienne of Tarth, my Lady. I am sworn to Lady Stark.’ 

‘Speak then.’ Lyanna settled back in her chair as Sansa and Jon let Brienne moved forward. 

‘I know how you feel, my Lady. You’ve been thrust into this position when it seemed so far from you. It was always the responsibility of others but now you have many lives to look after when yours has just begun. I never expected to be a fighter, to be a protector or a commander. I had to train in secret and was mocked almost by entire life for my height or preference of a sword over a needle and thread. I expected to fill the place my father set for him – heir of Tarth, a proper Lady with gowns and jewels and suiters. But I’m not and I never will be. Instead I’m a thousand leagues from home addressing you. I wouldn’t have made the effort if it wasn’t worth it, if I didn’t believe in the Starks.’ 

Lyanna sat up in her chair, listening intently. Behind Brienne’s back, Jon raised an eyebrow at Sansa, evidently impressed. 

‘You uncle made this man Lord Commander and Lady Sansa has marched the length of the realm to get home, risking herself at every junction. You say you loved Robb as King? Sansa tried to avenge him, on her own, by killing Walder Frey. She burnt for the North. Winterfell is just one step, my Lady. We have plans to travel South and remove Cersei Lannister but, before then, the dead will descend upon us, Jon has seen their destruction.’ 

Lyanna looked to her two advisors but both offered her nothing. ‘Is this true?’ 

Jon stepped forward ‘Your uncle fought them as did I. That’s why the Wildlings have come south- they're not raiding, they’re fleeing.’ 

‘The North is divided, my Lady, anyone can see. Against the dead, it will crumble. We must secure Winterfell so we can unite and defeat the Night King together.’ Sansa pressed her palms onto the table, her face a picture of desperation. 

Lyanna considered the arguments, looking between them. ‘House Mormont has kept faith with House Stark for 1,000 years. We will not break faith today.’ 

Sansa relaxed, a smile breaking through her firm expression. ‘Thank you, my Lady. How many men can we expect?’ 

‘62.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from season 6 (The Book of the Stranger and The Broken Man)


	19. The Battle of the Bastards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor character death ahead :)

‘You have brought my wife back with you, I assume? I have missed her terribly.’ Ramsay Bolton met them in the outskirts of Winterfell, accompanied by Harald Karstark and Smalljon Umber. He was just as foul as Sansa had imagined, covered in pink, fleshy skin. His hair hung loosely about his face, unkempt and dry, as far as she could tell, and it framed his thin face unnaturally. Sansa couldn’t put any of his features together: his eyes were too small and close together, his nose too broad and his lip thick like two worms. He wore no armour, instead choosing a black jerkin over a deep red doublet slashed in Bolton pink. She had never seen a man look more foolish, and she’d seen a number of actual court fools. 

‘Lady Jeyne is not with us, nor would we give her to you if she was.’ Jon was the first to speak. They were all on horseback, a fair distance from each-other so they had to near shout to be heard on the windy hill. 

‘How disappointing. Never mind, it seems I have found an even nicer prize. What’s the point in a younger sister anyway when the older is right there?’ He leered at Sansa but she held her face firm. 

Jon’s expression soured but he too kept his mouth shut. 

‘Now, onto the real business.’ The Bastard smiled, his lips spreading across his face. ‘Both of you, dismount and kneel before me. Proclaim me true Lord of Winterfell and I will pardon you for deserting the Night’s Watch and I will pardon your sister for her rebellion.’ 

‘Look at me when you are addressing me, my Lord.’ Sansa spoke up. Ramsay had been speaking to Jon as if she didn’t exist. From the corner of her eye she caught Margaery, bearing the Stark banner, smirk. 

‘If you wish, my Lady. Get off your horse, drop into the mud and beg for my mercy. I assume you are used to being on your knees, given your husband’s stature.’ Lord Umber and Karstark laughed behind him. ‘Let’s not be fools here. You know as well as I do that you don’t have the men or horses to fight nor the siege weapons to starve us out. Why lead your loyal men to their slaughter?’ 

‘You’re right. Thousands of men don’t need to die. Let’s end this the old way. Dismount and we’ll decide this now.’ Jon’s hand drifted to Longclaw. 

The Bastard only chuckled darkly in response. ‘I don’t think I will. Why would I fight such an accomplished swordsman? I know my odds and I also know that my army will beat your, I have 6,000 men, what do you have? Half?’ 

Sansa knew it was much left than half. Jon had brought 2000 Wildings South and a further 400 Northern men and women had joined their fight. Of course, she wasn’t counting the Manderly and Reed forces that had joined them just that morning, or the Dornish army encamped several miles away. His arrogance suggested he knew nothing of them. 

‘Aye, you have the numbers but how many of your men will remain loyal when they hear that you wouldn’t fight for them?’ Sansa let Jon take the lead, she was too repulsed to ride any closer to him. 

Ramsay clearly had no response for that but instead turned to Sansa. ‘Tell me, my Lady. Will you let your little brother die because your both too stubborn to surrender?’ 

They’d received word of Rickon’s capture while staying on Bear Island. Both had been so desperate to start that they had left within an hour and made for the South so quickly Sansa feared the Dornish would not arrive in time. 

‘You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton.’ She didn’t care for his poorly veiled threats. ‘Sleep well.’ 

The command tent was abuzz with commotion. Sansa, Jon, Ser Davos and Tormund were huddled around the central table, pointing out Winterfell’s key defences and drawing up their battle lines. Listening intently, Lyanna Mormont watched with the Greyjoys, Lord Manderly and Uma Reed, each offering suggestions which the Starks eagerly took up. Lady Brienne stood to the side of the tent with Lady Margaery whilst the Red Woman the furthest from everyone, observing. 

Neither Sansa or Jon had real experience planning anything like what they about to face on the morn. Sansa had led her men North but, come Moat Cailin, she’d let Brienne and Oberyn decide on the exact details of the attack. Jon, as Lord Commander, had led his men, decided on strategy and defences but never planned such an attack, and never on a keep so well defended as Winterfell. They leaned heavily on those more experienced, especially Ser Davos, who had a knack for battle plans. 

At last, as the sun was beginning to descend, they stepped away from the table, calling everyone to attention to explain their plan. After a few last-minute alterations, those assembled came to an agreement and the tent emptied as people readied for the day ahead. 

‘I need to speak with the free folk.’ Jon stopped by Sansa as he made his way out, ‘if I don’t see you before tomorrow-’ 

Without a word she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. When she pulled away, she kept her arms on his shoulders and held his gaze. ‘We’re going to win tomorrow. I know it.’ 

He smiled, nodded, and slipped out into the newly fallen darkness. She settled herself in a chair near Melisandre who had remained silent, her mind too busy for sleep. She glanced around the tent. Brienne and Margaery remained standing together with Lyanna Mormont, Uma Reed and the Greyjoys sitting around the table. She was not the only one unwilling to turn in just yet. 

‘When are you planning to tell your brother about the Dornish?’ Asha Greyjoy called from her seat, followed my light murmuring from the assembled women. Theon only shot his sister a look to tell her to be quiet. 

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Sansa feigned innocence, not moving from her seat. Melisandre’s dark eyes were trained on her. 

‘So, you brought a whole army as far as Moat Cailin then left them there? Horse shit!’ 

‘Sansa needed the army to safely reach the North and return South with to dethrone Cersei Lannister- the Dornish are not well suited to the cold.’ Margaery offered Sansa a small smile. 

Lady Asha chuckled. ‘It’s a nice story but I don’t believe a word. If the Dornish army is in Moat Cailin, who did we see a few miles South, setting up a perimeter?’ 

Sansa paled. 

‘Sansa?’ Margaery’s voice was small as she looked between her and the Greyjoys. 

‘The Dornish are here.’ Sansa admitted, standing and moving over to the map. She pressed her finger on the hill they were currently encamped behind out of sight of their own men and the Boltons. ‘Oberyn Martell has brought half his force as a relief, only if we need them.’ 

‘And you will be commanding this force? How else will the Red Viper know when to strike?’ Asha moved to the table beside Sansa. If she wasn’t mistaken, the Greyjoy princess appeared almost _ impressed _. 

‘Aye. When Jon leads the men, I will make the journey to the other line and wait with the Dornish.’ 

‘Sansa! You said you’d watch the battle with us!’ Margaery was outraged, she pushed to the other side of the map and pressed her hands on the table. ‘You’ll be safe here.’ 

‘I’ve made up my mind. I don’t wish to watch my men be slaughtered up here helplessly. Ramsay doesn’t know about the Dornish, they’re the perfect support. If all goes well, we won’t need them anyway.’ 

‘And what will you do if the Dornish fight? Wait on a different hill?’ Asha raised her eyebrow in genuine curiousity. 

Sansa wished she could answer the question with any resolve. Since they’d made camp and treated with the Boltons, she hadn’t stopped arguing with herself over what she actually planned to do. Jon’s words had stuck with her - 'how many of your men will remain loyal when they hear that you wouldn’t fight for them’. 

_ All these men are fighting for me but all I plan to do is sit atop a hill and watch from a safe distance. _ She couldn’t help but hear Lord Manderly’s warnings in her head. Jon had been in the North far longer than her and, even as a bastard, had earned the respect that she lacked. _ The men will see him fighting for them, not me. But there will be no point in fighting if I’m dead before we reach Winterfell. _

_ ‘ _ I don’t know.’ She admitted quietly, keeping her eyes on the map. 

Brienne stepped forward. ‘You cannot be considering riding with the Dornish, my Lady? No offence to you but do you not recall the last time you tried to fight?’ 

That stung but what hurt more was Margaery nodding in agreement. _ They do not believe in me. _

Sansa brushed her hair aside, her scars highlighted in the firelight. 

‘She loses once and you write her off?’ Asha scoffed back in their direction. ‘Scars are not marks of failure, they are marks of war. Reminders of failure yes, but we learn from the pain.’ She pulled up her jerkin in reveal her stomach, covered in faded slashes and rips. 

‘We’ve come all the way for her to claim her title. She can’t claim it if she’d dead.’ Margaery took the lead, her eyes narrow and focused on Asha. 

‘She can’t claim it if they prefer her brother over her either.’ 

‘She can barely wield a sword.’ 

‘But she _ can _wield it.’ 

‘It’s too great a risk, the men should be fighting not protecting her.’ Margaery leant further over the table. 

‘The men won’t need to.’ Asha leant in too, a grin spreading over her features. ‘I will. Theon will too, won’t you brother?’ Theon nodded beside her but remained quiet. 

‘I-’ Margaery looked between the three of them and fell back, shooting a desperate look at Sansa. 

‘Not everyone has spoken.’ Sansa addressed the room. She was tired of people fighting on her behalf as if she wasn’t there but in truth, she needed their opinions, her own thoughts were too conflicted. ‘We shall have a vote to settle it. Raise your hand if you think I should remain here, or with the Dornish and not join the fray.’ 

Margaery, Lady Brienne and Uma Reed raised their hands. 

‘And those who think I should fight?’ 

Asha and Theon’s hands were the first up, followed by Lady Lyanna. 

_ Tied. Well that didn’t help at all. _

From the corner of the room, Melisandre of Asshai raised her hand, her mouth remained shut. 

‘It’s settled then. Tomorrow, I will go with the Dornish and, if they ride, I will join them.’ Knowing there would only be further argument, Sansa made to leave the room. 

‘Wait. Sansa.’ Margaery caught her at the tent flap. ‘You can’t do this, you’ll die.’ 

Sansa took her closest friend’s hands in her own. She could not be angry at Margaery for trying to keep her alive. ‘Maybe, but maybe not. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if we failed and I didn’t at least try. Trust me, Marg.’ 

At last she gave in and smiled. ‘If you die, I’m taking your dresses.’ 

‘Done.’ 

‘Lady Stark?’ A small voice followed her as she made her way back to her tent. Sansa turned to find Lyanna Mormont in pursuit. 

‘Yes?’ 

‘Do you have any armour?’ The girl was small but her face remained fierce. 

‘Not exactly,’ she admitted, ‘I have some leather and I’m sure I could borrow a helm or-’ 

‘I won’t allow it. You can’t be going to war in leather and borrowed plate. Come with me.’ Lyanna forcefully took her arm and led her across the camp towards the Mormont section of tents. The men sat around campfire, speaking in hushed tones. She was glad no one was getting too bawdy the night before the battle. Lyanna nodded to the guards at her tent and led Sansa within. As with the Lady, it was small, largely covered in bear skins and weaponry Sansa doubted Lyanna would be able to lift. At the far side of the tent, piled upon crates, sat a suit of armour, far too large for the Lady of Bear Island. 

Lyanna moved towards it and began lifting each piece, laying them out upon her bed. Sansa knew little about metalwork or armour but she knew this to be of high quality. The breast-plate was intricately decorated with writhing vines and every corner and join was seamless. At the top of each arm, Sansa noticed a crest but in the place of the bear sigil she expected, two direwolves snarled at her. 

‘Whose armour is this?’ It seemed slim for the armour she usually saw. 

‘This was Dacey’s.’ Lyanna’s eyes drew across the armour. ‘It was a gift to her, before she rode off with your brother. She never liked steel though, always opted for leathers. If she’d have been wearing this-’ 

‘I’m truly sorry. House Stark will forever be in your debt for your mother and sister.’ 

‘It’s yours. If I remember, Dacey and you were of height with one another. It’s specially made for a woman’s frame so you won’t have to clunk around in some man’s seconds.’ 

‘What about the direwolves?’ 

‘The work of one of my men, a smith by trade. I knew you’d need the plate and mail, eventually. I planned it as a gift for when we took Winterfell but you need it now. I’m afraid there’s no matching helm. My sister was a beauty and never liked the idea of hiding it away, even in battle.’ She began piling them back up again and Sansa swept forward to help her. Lyanna called for one of her men who took them off their hands and headed in the direction of Sansa’s tent. 

‘Thank you, my Lady. You have done more than enough for my family.’ Sansa squeezed Lyanna’s shoulder before she departed. 

‘Now you must win in return. I won’t accept any less.’ 

‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’ She smiled and started back towards her inviting bed. Before she got the chance to get inside, however, once again her name carried on the wind. 

‘My Lord?’ Lord Manderly had found her this time, carrying a large bundle in his arms. ‘Come inside.’ 

Once inside, he set down his package and carefully removed the cloth it had been wrapped in. Beneath lay a steel helm, forged in the shape of a growling direwolf. It almost reminded her of the helm worn by Sandor Clegane in the shape of ferocious wolf but there was something elegant about this one, something refined. 

‘I know you’re going to fight tomorrow.’ When Sansa went to interrupt, he held his hand up to silence her. ‘I won’t be telling your brother, don’t you worry. I was near the command tent and overheard your decision. Just as I was to speak with you, I saw a suit of armour delivered here.’ 

Sansa saw the armour had been left beside her remaining clothes. _ I’ll put a cover over it in case Jon pays me a visit. _

‘Where did you get this? It’s-it’s beautiful.’ She picked it up, turning it over to admire the details. 

‘It was your brothers spare, he bid me have master armourers fix him one and send it to his camp. By the time it was finished, he was already gone. You’re his heir, it is by rights yours.’ 

‘Thank you, Lord Manderly. I know Robb would have been more than pleased with the work and your dedication to our cause.’ 

‘Many thanks, my Lady. I won’t keep you. Busy day ahead.’ 

‘Aye.’ She smiled. ‘Stay safe, my Lord.’ 

‘And you, princess.’ He left as quickly as he’d appeared. 

_ That’s the second time he’s called me that. Is that what he expects from me? _

After covering the gifts and then herself in furs, she slipped into sleep, her dreams filled with strange images of dogs and wolves and, before she awoke, the sun falling below the horizon. 

Horns brought her to her senses and she sprang from her bed. She pulled on her dress, which she’d change back out of when Jon left, and hurried out to meet with everyone else. The men were already in their mail and Jon sat before them upon his horse, looking across them as every eye was trained upon him. She found Empress saddled nearby and Pod waiting for her to help her mount. She pulled in alongside Jon and, with a nod, they led the men towards their battle lines. 

When they were in formation, Sansa turned her focus to the assembled Boltons outside Winterfell, almost too far away to see. She spotted Jon ahead of the men, beside Tormund and the giant he brought South and whispered a silent prayer for her brother to make it out alive. She had been positioned to the side of the army, with a good view of the field of battle below. This was where Margaery, Ser Brienne, Lady Mormont and Lord Manderly would be watching from. This was where she was supposed to remain. 

In the distance, she could see a rider breaking out of the lines, dragging something along beside him. She couldn’t see what was happening at their end but she noticed Jon dismount and take several steps out onto the field. Whatever Ramsay had been carrying proved to be alive as, once released, it bounded forward, heading in their direction. At once, Jon was turning back to his horse, heaving himself on and galloping towards the figure. That was when she realised what was happening. 

‘Rickon!’ She called out as loud as she could as her brothers grew closer together. As arrows began falling at Rickon’s feet, she heard herself scream until her voice grew hoarse, louder with every near-miss. 

‘Don’t run straight!’ Brienne called from beside her, signalling him to zig zag across the field. Rickon didn’t seem to notice, he was close to Jon now, reaching an arm out towards him. Jon was reaching out to as the feet closed between them and Sansa’s shouts grew less desperate- he was going to make it. 

_ Thump. _

Her brothers body fell hard upon the ground, an arrow stuck upwards, passing cleanly through his chest from behind. She didn’t remember how she got there but Sansa found herself on her knees on the ground, howling as if the arrow had caught her, her hands covering her face, shaking violently. She tried to pull herself up and run towards Jon but Brienne had dismounted and swept in front of her, a strong arm catching her across the stomach. She crumbled into Brienne’s hold, her legs giving way beneath her, her arms clutching at her middle in pain. A part of her had be ripped away and, with Jon alone out there, she was near certain she’d lose another before the day was through. From over her sworn-shield's shoulder, Sansa watched her brother stand in the centre of field as the two armies rushed at each-other. As they met, she buried her head in Brienne’s chest, refusing to look as the sounds of battle echoed across the plain. Her choked sobs were drowned out by the drumming of feet and the sharp clangs of steel meeting steel, 

‘It’s time to go, my Lady.’ Asha gently took hold of her arm and lifted her too her feet. Wordlessly, she allowed herself to be dragged back to her tent, let them dress her in her plate and mail and took her seat upon her bed while her horse was brought to her. 

Margaery entered several minutes later to find Sansa still seated, staring at the wall of the tent. 

‘Sansa?’ 

Sansa looked up towards her friend, tears in her eyes. ‘I can’t do it. He killed Rickon and he’ll kill me too.’ 

‘You have to.’ Margaery dropped onto her knees in front of her, cupping each cheek with a hand. 

‘No, you were right. I’m not like Asha or Brienne or Uma. I _ can’t _fight!’ She tried to pull away but Margaery’s grip held firm. 

‘Jon is feeling exactly like you are right now, but you saw him pick up his sword and fight anyway. You can grieve together later – we can all grieve. But you have to use what you’re feeling right now. The fear, the anger? Use it to fuck the Bolton’s with.’ 

Sansa had never heard Margaery speak such filth; a smile played on her lips. She nodded. At once Margaery was pushing her upwards and out of the door, leaning back in to grab Sansa’s helm while she was helped back to Empress. As she presented the wolf, Margaery took hold of Sansa’s gauntlet and spoke firmly. ‘Don’t you dare die. They need you.’ 

Sansa gave the hand a squeeze before reaching up and dropping the helm over her head. The armour was heavy but not as uncomfortable as she expected. She could still move suitably and, as she sat, she tested the give in her arms. At her waist she wore the black hilted sword as well as her knife Tyrion had gifted her. _ What would he think of me now? Head to toe in steel, riding off to battle with everything to lose. _She’d pinned the lion pin to her underclothes when she’d dressed in the morning, hoping it would instil her with bravery once again as it did when she faced Joffrey. 

‘Ready Sansa?’ Theon moved up beside her and she nodded. With Asha on the other side, they set off out of the camp and towards the Dornish reinforcements. 

When she reached them, the battle beneath was well underway but from such a distance it was difficult to tell who was winning. Oberyn was mounted at the front of the forces, deep in discussion with some of his commanders when they arrived. 

‘My Lady!’ He called out. ‘I hardly recognised you. Why are you in plate?’ 

Sansa felt foolish in her full suit amongst the Dornish. Even in this inhospitable cold, they’d gathered in light armour, opting for leathers over steel. 

‘I’m going with you, if we charge.’ She said it so simply but Oberyn didn’t seem to understand. 

‘Are you sure that’s wise? After what happened last time?’ 

She smiled, ‘I may be a slow-learner, my Lord, but I learn. I’ve brought Lady Asha and Lord Theon to fight alongside me. I don’t want to be a burden to your men.’ 

After a while he sighed and straightened his horse to allow her to fall in beside him. 

‘How does it look?’ She glanced out across the field. She’d never seen anything so chaotic. _ How can anyone tell whose men is fighting for whom? _

‘Not good.’ His voice was low, hoarse. ‘The Bolton’s have your men surrounded and their formation is holding. I can’t even see where than giant’s got himself to.’ Oberyn strained to see but came up with nothing. 

She looked over her shoulder at the lines of men behind her. Another 2000 would be enough to break their lines, she knew it but she also knew that admitting it meant she’d have to charge. 

‘This is it, little sister.’ 

Sansa jumped at the noise. A rider had moved next to her in plate embellished with direwolves. He wore a helm but, as she looked, he pulled it off and faced her. 

‘Robb?’ 

Her brother sat beside her, in the flesh. He was more rugged-looking than she ever knew. Long of beard and hair. He looked just as she’d seen him in her room after she left the Twins. She glanced back at the Greyjoys and Oberyn, they didn’t notice him. 

‘What are you doing here?’ He was looking out across the unravelling battle; his mare pounded the ground impatiently. 

‘I’m here to ride with you.’ He smiled brilliantly as always. ‘But you have to give the orders. Make the decision.’ The Dornish were waiting still, ready to go. 

‘Will you stay with me, when we charge?’ 

‘Of course. Now do it now, the tide can change in seconds.’ 

Sansa turned to Oberyn, ‘tell your men to ready themselves, they need us down there.’ She readied herself too, dropping her visor down and whispering prayers to the Old Gods. 

Oberyn rode out atop the hill, bringing his horse left to right as he addressed the men. From the slit of her helm, Sansa could see the three sandsnakes near the front of the van, flexing their fingers eagerly. 

‘Today we fight. For honour, for justice, for peace. Today we fight for Sansa Stark and all that is owed to her. We fight to kill the bastards. We fight to-’ The prince fell from his horse. 

Sansa started forward at once, dropping from Empress and running to him. He was lying on the snow on his front, just beneath his shoulder, a single arrow stuck into the sky. She was suddenly aware of the risk and looked up, just in time to watch Obara’s spear soar in a high arc in the sky, finding his mark in the chest of a Bolton archer. _ He was fleeing the battle. _ Sansa realised, _ no one knew we were here and the battle’s too far. He was fleeing the battle and happened up on, got lucky. _

Carefully she snapped the shaft in half so she could heave him onto his front. With his lack of heavy armour, the arrowhead had passed straight through him, jutting out of a chest already red with blood. Awkwardly, she ripped off her gauntlets and pressed a hand onto the wound, watching his eyes flicker as he came to his senses with a guttural groan. It was difficult to see in helm, she wrenched it off her set it beside her. 

‘No. No. No. I won’t allow it. Stay awake, please.’ She begged him, lifting her free hand under him to elevate his head. 

He only smiled. ‘Forbid me to die, that’s it. I can’t say no.’ His eyes were fluttering again and his breathing slowed. 

‘No. You can’t. Think of your sister. You still need to get justice for her. Think about your vengeance. There’s still so much for you to do.’ The sandsnakes had dropped down beside her, clutching at their father’s hands. 

He freed one of them and brought it to her face, pushing himself upwards with a grimace of pain. She tried to push him back to stop the bleeding but her hands were slick with it. The white snow beneath him was bleeding in dark crimson. 

‘I have my justice, Sansa. I brought you North so you could go South with my daughters. You will kill the Lannister fuckers and they will deal with Clegane.’ His breath hitched in his throat; it was becoming difficult to speak. 

‘I will do it. I promise. For you.’ 

‘Don’t do it for me,’ he grinned, ‘do it for Elia.’ 

‘For Elia.’ She repeated as she felt his body weaken in his arms and his chest fall still. 

Oberyn Martell died with a smile on his lips. 

Tyene threw herself at his body after Sansa set it down, howling as sobs racked her small frame. Her sisters were in shock too, but maintained their firm expressions. She looked upwards, the battled raged on regardless, they didn’t know what had happened here. Her view was suddenly obscured. The Greyjoys seized her arms and hauled her up, mumbling to her beneath their breath. 

‘We have to go now. They’re losing.’ Sansa looked over her shoulder. The field had become a mass of writhing, screaming bodies. She shuddered. Theon helped her back into her gauntlets and helm before securing her on Empress. She rode forward, turning to face the men where Oberyn had addressed them only minutes before. Robb had been right: the tide had turned so quickly and the brevity of her situation had yet to dawn on her. The Dornish had lost their prince and now looked to her standing in his place, drenched in sorrow and freezing for standing in the cold so long. She raised her visor and finished his speech. 

‘Today we fight for Prince Oberyn Martell, beloved brother and father who supported me when no one else dared. Who backed the scared hostage in King’s Landing and brought her home.’ She watched the sandsnakes take his body behind the lines. ‘Let us make sure his death is not in vain!’ 

As she called out the final words, she unsheathed her sword and raised it high in the air. She wasn’t sure why but the roars of reply told her it was the right thing to do. She dropped her visor back down, turned her horse and waited until the Greyjoys were flanking her either side. Letting out a breath, she closed her eyes for a moment. Robb was riding beside her through the Wolfwood when she was learning how to ride. She was wobbling around, complaining most of the time but he sat on his mare like it was part of him, steering her without fault through the trees and roots. 

She opened her eyes and saw Winterfell rising before her. 

‘Charge!’ 

At the sound of a horn, they surged forward at full speed towards the Bolton army. The Bolton’s had turned to face them, spooked, and those caught between the ranks took the opportunity to fight them from within. As the Dornish barrelled forward, Sansa craned her neck to spot Jon or even Tormund, but the field was full of bodies and she knew she couldn’t stay still for long. Following Asha’s lead, she held her sword to the side and ran down a small legion of Bolton’s her sword cutting across the remainder. When they turned, instinctively she swapped hand and she dragged her blade across another group and Asha shouted something to her. Sansa couldn’t make out the words but, by her tone, she sounded pleased. She repeated this action several times, sweeping across the lines, letting her sword do the work for her. 

She couldn’t see much for the bodies around her, flailing and falling and writhing and slashing. Something told her the tide was turning . There were more North men and free folk around her than Bolton’s and she spotted the giant heaving through the crowds towards the gates. In the instant she’d been watching Wun Wun, an arm shot forward and took hold of her leg. She rushed to spin her sword on him but she wasn’t fast enough and, with a tug, she fell to the floor. The impact was softened by the floor of bodies she fell onto, already stinking of putrid fresh. She scurried to her feet and searched the nearby riders: none of them were Greyjoys and Empress was nowhere to be seen. 

A battleaxe swung high above her and came down crashing. Knowing she’d break her blade if she tried to block it, she jumped out of the way, falling into yet more corpses and scrambling in the opposite direction towards some Wildlings coated in thick, matted blood. Where the centre of the Bolton’s trap had been, the largest pile of bodies loomed, higher than the tallest man. She made her way towards it, ducking low to avoid the swings of swords, dodging falling Bolton’s and wildlings alike. When she reached it, she began crawling up the bodies, holding her breath to avoid retching as she grasped arms and legs and heads to haul herself to the top. From there, she stood, lifted her visor and scanned the battlefield. 

_ Thud _. 

The sound rang out across the armies, followed by a sharp crack. Sansa turned her head in its direction. The giant was pounding at the gates. Sansa gasped when she saw it- a head of bright red hair beside a dark mess. _ They’re alive and about to take the castle. _She wasn’t too far away- she could make it to them. 

With new-found resolve she tumbled back down the pile, once again dropping low as she moved forward blind, hoping she’d end up where she wanted to be. The closer she got, however, the more she could rise her head above the fighting. The men were dissipating and the sound of steel upon steel was fading. Just as she pushed through the final fights, the gate caved in before her and the giant pushed through, wood splintering around him. He was followed quickly by Jon and Tormund whose heads she could clearly see the back of now. 

She reached the gate just in time to see the giant drop to his knees. The impact shook the earth and it was shaken again as the rest of his body keeled over, an arrow protruding from his eye. She spotted Ramsay backing backwards, holding an empty bow. 

‘You suggested one-on-one combat, didn’t you?’ Nobody replied, he chuckled in a mania, ‘I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.’ 

Before she could reach him, Jon fell upon the Bastard, his shield raised against the arrows sent to him. She watched him raise his shield and slam it onto Ramsay, repeatedly. Discarding the broken shield, he turned to his fists, bringing them down upon him, the bastard growing limp beneath him. 

_ Someone has to tell him to stop. _ She glanced around the courtyard. _ No one here has the gall. _

‘Jon!’ At her voice he pulled back and spun on his heel, meeting her eyes. She sheathed her sword and removed her helm, shaking out the hair plastered to her face with blood and sweat. 

‘Sansa? What are?’ He was panting through his words, his hands dripping in red. So were hers, she’d almost forgotten about that. 

‘That’s enough.’ She called, stepping forward to stand beside Tormund who raised his wild brows as she approached. 

Jon looked down upon the mangled mess that had been Ramsay Bolton and strode away without another word, retreating within the castle walls. 

When he was gone, the castle filled with people. Two Manderlys took Ramsay by the arm and hauled him away, whilst men flooded in to catch a glimpse of what had just occurred. 

‘Sansa!’ Theon ran up to her and Sansa felt a rush of relief. A few steps behind and with a slight limp, his sister followed. 

‘You held your own.’ She gritted her teeth as she leant on her injured leg. ‘Better than me, at least.’ 

As they stood, the castle came to life, people Sansa didn’t even know offering her their congratulations, a few Dornish praising her. The party that remained in the camp rode in on horseback, Margaery’s face brightening to see her alive. 

‘Are you hurt?’ Margaery dismounted and rushed over to Sansa, searching her up and down for injuries. 

Sansa laughed, brushing her off. She wanted to embrace her friend but she knew it was difficult while she was still covered in steel- not to mention the blood and mud. ‘I’m fine, we’re fine.’ 

Margaery smiled in relief checking over everyone near, stopping on Lady Asha, propped up by leaning on Theon. She crouched in the snow and took hold of her leg. Asha tried to kick her away but only winced at the movement. ‘It’s not too deep but it needs cleaning.’ 

‘I’ve had worse.’ The Greyjoy growled in response. Margaery rose from the ground and met her eyes. 

‘Do you want an infection? Do you want to lose your leg? Be a cripple the rest of your life because you were too tough to have a small wound seen to?’ Her voice was firm, commanding. Lyanna Mormont, still on her horse, chuckled from behind them. 

‘I can handle it, my _ lady _.’ She spat the last word but Margaery only rolled her eyes. 

‘I’ve been patching up my brothers all my life. Your hands are far too big to do it nicely so it won’t scar.’ 

Asha scoffed. ‘My hands are too big for you?’ She looked the girl up and down before going to leave. As she moved, she breathed heavily in pain and cursed under her breath. ‘Fine,’ she relented, ‘but it’s your fault if it scars.’ 

Sansa would have bid her friend good luck but her attention was elsewhere as she stared upwards. 

From the ramparts, the flayed men of the Bolton’s were cut down, falling to the floor in piles of fabric. Other men joined them, holding bundles of grey material. She didn’t know where they’d got them from or how they’d got them here so quickly but Sansa couldn’t help but cheer as the bundles were let loose down the castle walls. Theon stood beside her and grasped her hand, also looking upwards. 

‘Back where it belongs.’ He said, more to the air than to her. 

‘Back where it belongs.’ She agreed. 

The Direwolf flew over Winterfell once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from 'The Battle of the Bastards'


	20. The Lady of Winterfell

‘Your Grace?’ Tyrion Lannister stood at the prow of a ship beside his Queen. In the sea breeze, her loose silver hair caught on the wind and the reflection of the sun on the water made her violet eyes shines twice as bright. She’d chosen a dark grey gown for the occasion, embellished with silver dragons, contrasting magnificently against her pale skin. He’d been uncertain about the young Targaryen since he’d arrived in Meereen but, as they began their journey to Westeros, he saw what others praised in her. 

She’d wanted to remain in Meereen for longer, to continue as its Queen until the city was ‘saved’ but, since his arrival, Tyrion understood that it would never be possible. 

The ships send to them from the various traders of Slaver’s Bay were a gift from the Gods, in Tyrion’s opinion but Daenerys was not so impressed. 

‘These are not gifts.’ She proclaimed after calling Tyrion for his counsel, ‘they are vessels to get me out of the city so the masters can swarm back in.’ 

‘Is that so bad, your Grace?’ 

‘So bad?’ She scoffed. ‘All the people I have freed will be back in their fetters and chains before I reach the docks. I have not saved these people to deliver them back to their slavery.’ 

‘I mean is it so bad that they want you gone?’ He inhaled deeply. He’d been meaning to have this conversation with her for several weeks but he never found the right time. ‘You’re a foreign Queen trying to change a city’s centuries-old ways. I do not condemn slavery but I’m not sure you can truly right all wrongs here. If you want to stay here until Meereen is safe, you will never leave.’ 

She thought on this for a moment, scowling slightly. ‘I am hardly a foreign Queen. I grew up in Essos, lead a Khal through the Dothraki sea. I have spent more of my life in Slavers Bay than anywhere else.’ 

‘That may be so,’ he conceded, ‘but it is your name that is foreign. So long as you are a Targaryen, you will always be foreign to them.’ 

‘I will never lose my name.’ She clenched her jaw and hardened her gaze. 

‘Which is my point. These people need their own kind to defend them, to understand traditions and beliefs. You’ve done a fine job here but the Sons of the Harpy will remain restless while you sit in this pyramid.’ 

‘Then the Sons of the Harpy will die.’ 

‘And how many others will die before then? How many Unsullied will fall? Westeros is waiting for you and those ships can get you _ and _the Unsullied there.’ 

She paused, looking him over. ‘What do you suggest I do instead? You know I cannot leave Meereen to their mercy.’ 

Tyrion had been thinking of this since he’d seen the state of the streets with Varys. He knew what these people needed, however much Daenerys would object. 

‘A council, of their leaders. Find an old master, a priestess, a worker, a scholar and whomever else holds sway here. Leave the sellsword behind to keep the peace and let them dictate how their city is run.’ 

‘And if they fail? If the city falls?’ Her voice was quiet, reproachful. 

‘Then it falls. Those living here will want the best for Meereen, so if they fail, it means the city is lost, poisoned.’ 

‘I shall think upon it.’ 

It had taken a week for her to make a decision and another to make the arrangements. The Queen had Lord Varys scope out their potential council members and report back to her his findings. She wouldn’t rest until she found the perfect representative of the people and he often stayed up with her till the sun arose, picking through their favourites. At last they agreed upon a council of six Meereenese members, overlooked by Daario, and were pleased that all accepted their posts. 

With the new system in place, Tyrion noticed a change in Daenerys. Where just weeks ago she’d been intent on remaining, she became violently eager to board the ships and set sail. It was all she spoke of and everything she did was in preparation for their departure. As he watched her fuss over logistics, he was reminded of his wife’s own excitement when her plan to escape King’s Landing was coming together. 

‘Your Grace?’ He asked again, his voice drowned out over the wash of foam. 

‘Yes?’ She turned to him. 

‘By this time next year, you will be Queen of Westeros. Until then, you’ll face the hardest path of your life, you _ will _suffer for your crown.’ 

‘Someone else will suffer more.’ She replied in a beat. 

He only cocked his head to the side. 

A broad grin spread across her face and she turned back towards the sea ahead. She spoke the name into the seaspray, towards the lands in the distance. 

‘Cersei Lannister.’ 

‘Ah,’ was his only reply. With his sweet sister’s demise so close, he wondered how the rest of his family would fare. Jaime had betrayed him with Tysha but he still couldn’t forget all the times his big brother had looked out for him, shielded him from the hatred of the world. _ I doubt Daenerys will see the man who murdered her father so fondly. _Then there were his niece and nephew. Myrcella and Tommen were nothing like their older brother – they were good children born miraculously from filth and despair. He aimed to convince his Queen to spare their lives, even if it meant sending them to exile. That left Sansa- 

‘Tell me a joke, Tyrion. You’ve always got something witty to say and I’m already bored of these ships and this sea and nearly everyone else.’ She chuckled to herself, looking towards him in hope. 

He smiled upwards at her. ‘Well, your Grace, if you insist.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I once bought a honeycomb and a jackass into a brothel-’ 

‘I’m sorry Jon, I didn’t want you to think I didn’t believe in you.’ 

Sansa and Jon were alone in the crypts. Outside, the courtyard and fields beyond were being cleared of bodies and great pyres were being built to be lit that evening. When she could finally escape from her companions, she pressed indoors and searched for Jon. She found his sword belt left on a bench at the top of the stairs and descended to find him standing before Ned Stark’s tomb, brooding in silence. _ I didn’t miss this. _

‘You saved us, Sansa. There’s nothing to apologise for.’ He didn’t meet her eye when she entered or spoke. 

‘I didn’t save everyone.’ Her voice wavered as she shut out the images of Rickon’s small body on the empty field or Prince Oberyn in her arms. Both had been carried in for people to pay their respects but she couldn’t bring herself to see either. 

‘But we were losing until you rode in. You made the right call.’ 

‘I should’ve told you. It wasn’t right to-’ 

‘You don’t have to run anything by me Sansa, you’re Lady of Winterfell, aren’t you?’ He sounded bitter and she gently reached for his arm. He flinched when she drew too close and she pulled away. 

‘We won, Jon. They’ll be a feast tonight and ravens have already been sent to the Northern Lords inviting them here. Isn’t this what you wanted?’ 

‘This is what you wanted. All I want is to stop the Night King, we’ve no time for celebrations.’ He turned to her, his eyes red, still covered in dried mud and blood. In seeing his battle-worn appearance she remembered her own. When she left the courtyard, she’d had the chance to remove her armour and Margaery had brought her a dress to change into. She’d been so desperate to find Jon that she’d forgotten about the blood still staining her hands and cheek. 

Jon reached forward and hovered his hand over her face, copying the hand-print left there, his eyebrows raised. 

‘Oberyn Martell.’ She answered his question for him, ‘got an arrow in the back from a deserter, I think.’ She turned over her crimson hands. ‘I did what I could but-’ 

‘I’m sorry Sansa.’ His voice wavered. ‘I was so close to him, I almost had him but-’ 

They both stood in silence as the candle-light flickered. 

At last Jon spoke, waking Sansa from her fatigue as she stared into her father’s tomb. 

‘What do you plan on doing with Ramsay?’ She’d pulled closer to him in the silence and had to step away to see his face. 

‘I thought you might want a say in that, you were the one to defeat him.’ She folded her arms over her chest. _ I don’t want to think about that Bastard down here. _

‘You’re the Lady, Sansa, it’s your choice. You should probably be the one to do it though, for father’s sake.’ 

‘I’ll send word to the wall.’ She said, entwining her arm in his. ‘Ask them to send Jeyne to us when she’s well enough. I’ll ask them to spare her a small escort.’ 

‘Why would they send men from the wall when it needs them most, just to deliver a steward’s daughter.’ He responded coolly. 

‘Because our cells will be overflowing with Bolton men eager to take the black. I’ll spare the foot soldiers; they were following their Lords but I can’t afford to free the commanders. The things they did for Ramsay. They’ll be good for the Night’s Watch though, battle trained, largely high-born, garteful for any opportunity not to follow their Lord to their graves. I’ll deal with him when Jeyne gets back. Her and Theon deserve to bear witness to his execution.’ 

Jon nodded. ‘Wise, we’ll need all the men we can get when the dead arrive. Let’s just hope Jeyne can ride South before they reach the Wall.’ 

When they burnt the bodies that night, two separate pyres had been set aside for Rickon and Oberyn. Tyene lit her father’s, surrounded by her two sisters and much of the remaining Dornish army. Coming late into the battle, they’d been fortunate and had only suffered 100 deaths and 50 more casualties. The Wilding army and Northmen had been less fortunate but she chose to ask for exact numbers another time, when it was time to rebuild. 

Her and Jon lit Rickon’s pyre together. She almost didn’t recongise him as they approached- he'd been barely out of her mother’s arms when she’d seen him last. _ Far too young for any of this. _ She looked behind her at the assembled Lords and Ladies she’d allow to overlook the burning with them. _ We all are. _They’d found his wolf’s body in the keep, its head torn clean off. Shaggydog, as apparently Rickon had chosen, had been laid out beside his master, as if they were both sleeping. She didn’t cry as the flames caught; he looked at peace, that was all she could wish for him now. 

When their job was done, Sansa took her place to the front of the group, looking out upon the great fires and the mourners surrounding them. 

‘No victory is perfect.’ She called out across the field, silent in everything bar the crackling of pyres. The stench of burning flesh blanketed over them, suffocating her, but she spoke on, eager to get inside. ‘Every victory has its price and today, for Winterfell, those before us paid the ultimate price. Let them go to their Gods, Old or New, with honour and glory and let us remember them for their sacrifice and full lives, not for the manner of their deaths. I wish the same for the Bolton forces, many of which being only men following their Lord’s orders. Let them go in grace too. For everyone who fell today, we will never see their like again.’ She looked to Jon behind her and he nodded. The words of the Night’s Watch had been his idea and, as the words were repeated from all men before them, she believed they were a wise choice. 

‘It is not over. We will mourn now but more dangers will face us tomorrow. The dead draw closer South every day, adding to their numbers, whilst the tyrant Cersei Lannister retains her grip on the Iron Throne. These will not be the final pyres lit but every life lost does so in service to the peace ahead of us, where the North and South from Dorne to the lands beyond the Wall can put these dark times behind them. I will stand beside you, as Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North, until we reach that peace... or die trying.’ She paused taking a breath. ‘Tonight, let us celebrate our victory and mourn our losses. A feast shall be held in the keep and wine and food has been sent to your camps. Please, don’t waste this chance for revelry, it may be a long time till we get another.’ 

Over the following two weeks, Winterfell, having just survived its last battle, was prepared for the next attack. Sansa oversaw the rebuilding and strengthening of existing defences and her and Jon drew up plans for new ones, designed specifically for the dead. She was glad to find something to calm his anxiety; only he and the free folk truly knew what was marching South and she knew he was up until the early hours every morning thinking over what else had to be done. Most of the time he had others scour the archives for sources of Valyrian steel or dragonglass, both of which they’d found could kill White Walkers. Sansa was glad she wasn’t alone in her work and she was thrilled to see Northmen, Dornish and Wildings combine their efforts to reinforce the walls and fell trees for spikes and arrows. The forges worked overtime and the courtyard was never free of commanders drilling their men. 

She seized her free-time whenever she could get hold of it. She took long baths, walked slowly around the keep, took a horse on a ride through the Wolfswood, sat under the Heart Tree, embroidery in her lap or visited the crypts. Rickon had been laid to rest in his tomb after his body was burnt enough for Jon to be sure he wouldn’t reanimate. It was terrible enough that her youngest brother had been killed but to see him brought back and have to watch him die once more? Sansa couldn’t bear to think of it. She prayed by her father’s shrine and by Robb’s, often accompanied by Jon and once Theon, who had come to pay his respects to the brother he’d left behind. 

The first week after the battle, she grew content in her position. Leadership fell upon her shoulders naturally and people followed her commands without a whisper. The second week, however, the arrival of Petyr Baelish soured the very air she breathed. 

When he arrived at the keep, he told a pretty story of his attempts to ride to Winterfell’s rescue. He’d convinced Lord Royce to bring the Knights of the Vale north but, upon reaching Moat Cailin, the Dornish wouldn’t let them pass, disbelieving his friendly intentions. Only after Winterfell had been secured, they were allowed to pass through and now many of the Knights presented themselves at her doorstep, needing food and beds and something to do. Jobs were easy to come by but resources were scarce enough with two armies quartered in the castle, in Wintertown, or in the camps spread across the fields surrounding them. The cold had truly set in and each day she received more officers begging her to let them stay within under a real roof. She’d had to turn most away, there was no room to spare. 

After receiving him formally, Sansa walked with Lord Baelish along the ramparts, keeping out of the way of the work beneath. 

‘I’m impressed, my Lady. The stories I hear are...quite impressive.’ He kept his eyes on her as they walked. 

‘Why are you here, Lord Baelish?’ She replied bluntly. ‘The last time we spoke you dismissed me completely. You told me I had to earn your respect.’ 

‘Well I would say you’ve done that, and more.’ He gestured to the courtyard in which a regiment of Dornish were helping free folk lift barrels of oil supplied by the Manderlys. ‘I’ve simply come here to offer my congratulations.’ 

‘And?’ 

‘My Lady?’ 

‘Congratulations can be given by raven. Winter has come, Lord Baelish, it is not safe to ride so far North.’ She kept her face firm and walked slightly ahead of him, forcing him to scurry forward to catch up. 

‘I have sat beside many a King, my Lady. I thought you might find value in my counsel. Those around you are, safe to say, lacking in real experience.’ His lips curled into a mouth. Sansa marvelled at the manner in which he spoke out of the sound of his mouth, it was truly repulsive. 

‘My father took up your offer, did he not?’ Littlefinger did not respond. ‘I’m sorry you have made the journey North but it was a waste of time and a foolish risk to your men. Even if I needed your counsel, I would never accept it. You’d sooner stab me in the back than remain true.’ She tried to leave him there but he persevered and was at her side once again. 

‘King’s Landing will know of your victory by now. Cersei expected you to die at the hands of the Bolton’s, or to wipe each-other out. She’ll be quaking to know you succeeded. I’ve declared for House Stark too. If they don’t know, they’ll know soon.’ 

‘You serve no one but yourself, my Lord. When you saw power in the Vale, you left King’s Landing for it. When my aunt was an obstacle, you murdered her. Now you seen power in the North and you’ve left your duty behind once again. What am to expect will come next?’ She stopped walking at the edge of a tower, overlooking the fields below were rows of tents extended across all open space. He didn’t even flinch when she mentioned Lysa Arryn and made no move to deny his involvement in her death. 

‘I could never hurt you Sansa. Look at you. Every time I see you, you look more like your mother. But Catelyn Stark never led an army into battle- you are have come further than she ever could and you are still young, still with much ahead. That is why I am here, my Lady. You aim to march South? I will march with you. We will overcome Cersei together.’ He seemed so certain of the fact, his narrow eyes shone. He reached out a gloved hand and laid it upon her cheek, making an effort to avoid touching any of the scarred flesh. ‘You are so much more than Winterfell, think of what we could do on the Iron Throne.’ 

Sansa’s hand shot up and took hold of his wrist, bringing it away from her face. ‘Do not presume to touch me, my Lord. And do not presume I could ever support a plot that saw you ruling Westeros. You may stay here, given that your men provide for themselves, but I will not march with you. Not even if you begged.’ _ I’d rather Cersei warmed the Iron Throne until she grows grey than your bony arse got anywhere near it. _

He opened his mouth to speak as he tried to wrangle himself free from her firm grip. 

Sansa dropped her hand. ‘No need to seize the last word. I'll assume it was something clever.’ She interrupted before turning on her heel and swept away in the opposite direction. _ Gods I detest that man _. 

Exactly two weeks after the Battle of the Bastards, as it had already been dubbed, the Lords and Ladies of the North, and beyond, were assembled in Winterfell’s great hall. Sansa sat at the centre of the dais in her father’s old chair, with Jon to one side of her and Margaery to the other. Jon was joined by Tormund, Ser Davos and Theon Greyjoy whilst the other side was occupied by Asha, Lady Brienne and Ser Garland. In the rows of benches below, Sansa spotted Lady Mormont breaking bread with the commander she’d brought along with her, the sandsnakes, who had split command of the Dornish forces between them, Lord Manderly chuckling into his ale and Lady Melisandre, standing with her back to the wall. Lord Royce was seated near the dais and even Littlefinger, despite her ignoring him for a week, made an appearance. Lord Cerwyn and Lord Glover were seated near eachother., neither were smiling. The rest of the hall was filled with unfamilar faces. Lords and Ladies of small houses and their small retinues beside the new faces of great houses that had lost their leaders to Robb’s war or to hers. 

The mood was generally jolly. She ordered that food and mead be supplied in large quantities before she addressed them to soften up their thick Northern hinds before they had to come to terms with her in her brother’s place. 

‘You cannot expect the noble Lords and Ladies to side with wilding invaders.’ It seemed Robett Glover had still not moved from his position against the free folk. As soon as chatter faded and Sansa addressed the men, he was first to voice his opinion, raising from his seat and spitting out his words. 

‘We didn’t invade, we were invited.’ Tormund replied, drinking deeply from his ale. 

‘Not by me. I made my position clear and now you ask me back here when nothing has changed. Lord Royce?’ He turned to the Commander of the Knights of the Vale who was seated amongst a select group of his men. ‘Surely you cannot ride with these savages?’ 

‘I must admit it, my Lady,’ Bronze Yohn Royce looked towards the dais, my Knights have shown discomfort in allying ourselves with the wildings.’ Lord Glover seemed pleased at that response. 

‘The free folk fought alongside Northern men and won. If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t be sat here today.’ Sansa remained calm, although her experiences with Lord Glover led her to believe he was not an easy man to convince. 

‘Aye, and the Dornish too.’ Obara called out from her seat. 

‘Precisely.’ said Sansa. ‘Forces from across Westeros came together here for what was right and honourable. Now we must do the same in our defence and in bringing justice to House Lannister.’ 

‘Ah, the Southern Queen with her Southern army come to save the day. Is this who you want leading you? A Stark should rule here, not a Lannister. From what I see, Jon Snow led the army to save Winterfell –he's been in the North his whole life and Ned Stark’s blood runs through him.’ There were several murmurs of assent around him. _ Lord _ _ Manderly _ _ was right. They’ll refuse me in favour of a bastard for bringing the _ _ Dornish _ _ here, for saving their men’s skins. _

‘Sansa is the rightful Lady of Winterfell, ser.’ Jon stood from his position, dark eyes narrowed towards Glover. ‘She came to me for help so I did what I could. I don’t want no lordship and I would never take what is hers from her.’ 

‘Lady Sansa is by no means a Lannister, my Lords.’ Lady Brienne followed Jon’s suit. Sansa noticed Tormund’s eyes jump upwards as she spoke. ‘I’ve met enough Lannisters to know the difference. From my first meeting with her in Kings Landing, she made it clear all she wanted was to escape. Her alliance with the Dornish was made because-’ 

‘Because none of you came to help her.’ Nymeria called out from her seat, picking at her chicken from one of her daggers. ‘You cannot blame her for seeking us out when you sat on your fat arses and let her rot there.’ 

Murmurs of outrage spread across the hall. Sansa wasn’t exactly pleased with the way Nymeria had worded her criticisms but she had to agree. _ These great Lords left me to die in the South then berate me for surviving. _From across the room, Sansa spotted Lyanna Mormont utter a word to her neighbour before standing and clearing her throat to quiet the room. 

‘Lord Glover, you swore alliegence to House Stark but in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call. Lord Cerwyn, you have not spoken but I see you cowering. Your father was skinned alive by Ramsey Bolton but you refused the call. House Mormont remembers. The North remembers. I don’t care whose army she brought North, who kept her prisoner, or who she was forced to marry. I watched the battle, if it wasn’t for Sansa Stark and her relief forces, we would have failed. When Robb was King, we followed him and she is his heir so we will follow her too. We know no Queen but the Queen in the North whose name is Stark. She’s my Queen from this day until her last.’ 

_ Queen? I am no Queen; I am only the Lady of Winterfell. But Robb was only the Lord and they still named him King- _

Sansa could not believe what Lady Lyanna had just said. She shot the girl as smile and, for the first time, it was returned as she dropped back into her seat. The room rose again in noise and Sansa watched arguments grow across tables. 

Lord Manderly heaved himself upwards, making room by pushing others aside to account for his girth. ‘Lady Mormont is harsh but true. When the Bolton’s took the North, I didn’t dare move against them, none of us did. My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, and I thought, if he wasn’t good enough for the job, I won’t see another in my lifetime. I didn’t want more Manderlys dying for nothing. Then Sansa Stark came to me, an army at her back, the support of Dorne and Highgarden, and a keep already under her control. That’s when I knew I was wrong. Sansa Stark avenged the Red Wedding. Her brother led the men but it was her battle to fight. She is the Burned Wolf. Queen in the North.’ He’d stepped out into the aisles between the benches and was approaching the dais. With a wink in her direction, he unsheathed his sword, knelt on the stone and lay it before her. 

‘Perhaps I too was wrong.’ Lord Glover rose. 

‘We all make mistakes, my Lord. I would have been just as suspicious in your position.’ 

‘Then I will stand behind you, Sansa Stark- Queen in the North.’ He followed Lord Wyman and lay his blade on the ground. 

Lady Lyanna was the next to approach, unsheathing a dagger in lieu of a sword. She was followed by Lord Hornwood, Lord Cerwyn and the other minor Lords and Ladies present. From the side of the room, she spotted a young boy approach, sworn drawn, alongside a slightly older girl. She knew both to be Northern by their appearance but she was unaware of what children, beside Lyanna, were in attendance. 

‘Ned Umber and Alys Karstark.’ Margaery leant into Sansa’s ear and whispered. Sansa shot her friend a look of surprise. _ Since when does the Rose of Highgarden know so much about the children of Northern Houses. _Margaery answered her question, ‘I saw Alys arrive yesterday, and Ned a few days before. Asked for their names.’ 

‘Lord Umber, Lady Karstark.’ Sansa addressed, all eyes on the room fell upon them, eliciting more murmurs and whispering. _ These Lords are like to tear them apart if I do not do something soon. _

When they reached her, the others having cleared room, they fell upon their knees. Sansa rose from her seat and skirted round the dais to speak to them directly instead of from above. 

‘Your fathers broke faith with House Stark. They were our sworn bannermen and we their liege Lords yet when the time came, they chose the Boltons over us. Your castles and men could be valuable to the war effort, in the hands of loyal families, or the free folk.’ She could see the fear in their eyes. She couldn’t keep this up for long. ‘If I were Cersei Lannister, I would have your heads for your fathers’ crimes. But I shan’t. You father made poor decisions but they were only trying to protect you and your House. I too have done things I know others would take off my head for the sake of House Stark. For centuries our houses have kept faith, let this fault be forgotten. Pledge your swords as our bannermen once more and we can start anew.’ Shoulders relaxing and colour returning to their cheeks, Alys and Ned did as they were bid, presenting her with their swords. With a smile, she nodded and brought her attention back to the hall before her. 

Standing before the dais, she couldn’t shake the vulnerability of having everyone she trusted standing behind her instead of beside. She’d made the step to the front now, there was no going back to safety. 

_ They want me as Queen, I cannot refuse. _

‘I, Sansa, of House Stark have fought for longer than I thought possible to return here and now it pains me to think that we must fight again to keep the North safe from its greatest threat yet. But we _ will _do it. I am honoured by your words tonight; I hope to live up to your expectations. 

‘When the North is safe,’ she briefly turned her head to Jon who grinned, ‘and only when the North is safe, we will march North and the South will feel our steel.’ A cry filled the hall. ‘I will take up where Robb left off and lead you, as well as I can, to victory. But not just to victory. But to peace and justice and honour. Yesterday’s wars do not matter anymore. Today we living band together against the dead. Winter has come, my Lord and Ladies but, if we stand as one, we shall match it in fire and blood and steel and ice and everything else in between.’ 

‘Queen in the North!’ Jon bellowed from behind her. With his shout, all her doubts around him gutted out. _ Jon would never do anything against me. I was cruel to him for most of your time together yet he stands beside me nonetheless. In these few weeks together again, I have learnt more about him than I ever knew after years of living here. He is all I have left, unless Bran finds his way home. _After him, the room erupted in the chant. Sansa even spotted Tormund and his wildings joining in excitedly. 

Sansa, of House Stark, Queen of the North, the Burned Wolf of Winterfell, looked out across her people. Their eyes were on her, their swords and tankards raised to her, her name was on their lips. Their energy was like a fuel to her and, in the noise and movement, she felt like she truly was burning. She scanned the room, nodding to her Lords and Ladies, mouthing a thanks to Lady Lyanna and basking in their chanting. 

From the corner of her eye, Sansa spotted Lady Melisandre, still stood away from others, not joining in with the rest of the room. The Red Priestess met her gaze and her eyes flashed bright red. She was sure the woman’s face remained still but she heard her words echo through her skull. 

‘The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from 6x10 and 7x01


	21. Epilogue: The Fallen Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor character death and brief description of a suicide. Skip 'Jaime's hand relaxed' to 'someone rushed up beside him' if you want to miss it out.

Somewhere in Westeros, Arya Stark was bringing justice to House Frey. Somewhere in Westeros, Daenerys Targaryen was landing on the beaches of Dragonstone. Somewhere is Westeros, Ellaria Sand was plotting her vengeance against Sansa Stark. Somewhere in Westeros, Jaime Lannister was following his daughter to her doom. 

As Sansa Stark advised, Jaime Lannister travelled to Dorne in search of Myrcella. He never asked Bronn to carry on with him once they passed King’s Landing but the  sellsword -turned-knight never showed any interest in returning to his marriage and castle now. It warmed him to know there was someone on his side instead those who had been forced to travel with him.

Prince Doran didn’t flinch when he handed him the letter Sansa had written for him. An explanation of his intentions- her faith on paper. He briefly scoured over the letter and set it aside, refusing him any information as to where  Myrcella or Trystane had vanished to. 

After leaving the Prince empty-handed, Bronn suggested a trip to the docks, to learn if anyone would be willing to part with information for a price. Jaime would rather not pay off his informants; he’s left King’s Landing with a healthy pouch of coin but through his journey to the Twins and back South again, enough had been spent at inns and tavern. Before they reached the harbour, however, Jaime sidled slightly closer to Bronn and mumbled under his breath. 

‘We’re being followed.’ The  sellsword didn’t react but, at Jaime’s signal, they both jumped around, swords drawn upon their pursuer. The figure was wrapped in a sand-coloured cloak, their face obscured by their hood and dark brown ringlets of hair. What’s more, they didn’t stop when Jaime and Bronn did, continuing towards them as if nothing had occurred.  _ Perhaps I am too paranoid these days,  _ he thought to himself as Bronn shot him a strange look,  _ but then again, who doesn’t react to having two swords drawn on them? _

The figure swept passed them. 

‘Come with me.’ A voice commanded from under the hood, figure not showing any signs of having spoken. He raised his eyebrows to Bronn who just shrugged and went to do as he was bid.  _ We could be being led to our death but – when have I been scared of dying? _

They were not led to their death but away from the docks and towards the twisting streets of the town below  Sunspear . The hooded figure pressed through any crowds and round corners with the speed and confidence of a local, leaving the two of them rushing to catch up and not lose their guide in the foreign streets. The figure stopped at once before a sandstone residence and continued past the building into a small fenced patio behind. The figure knocked on the backdoor three times, then paused before knocking twice again and standing back. Slowly, the door opened a crack then, when Jaime supposed the figure was seen by whoever waited inside, it swung open. Arms grabbed at him, ushering him and Bronn inside, the door nearly knocking them over as it was shut quickly behind them. 

There was nothing remarkable about the insider. It was constructed largely out of sandstone and was laid out exactly how Jaime expected a  Dornish house to be- open and airy, with a small pool in the centre of the largest room. He looked upwards to see who had let them in but they had already started upstairs so the three of them followed him onwards. They were led into what must’ve once been a bedroom but was now set up with a table in the centre, littered with maps and papers. 

‘Father?’ 

_ She said it like it was nothing. I’ve never called her daughter to her face but she calls me father as naturally as she called Cersei mother.  _

‘Myrcella?’ 

Seated around the table,  Myrcella Baratheon was almost unrecognisable. When he’d last seen his only daughter, she was still a child and only beginning to show any signs of maturity. Now she appeared a grown woman, her golden hair lying in loose waves upon her bare shoulders, her green eyes glinting in the afternoon sun. She wore a deep orange gown decorated with gold embroidery. Beside her sat a  Dornish man with a mess of dirty blonde curls on his head and a dark-haired knight in full enamel white plate. 

_ So, Ser  _ _ Arys _ _ _ _ Ookeheart _ _ is still her protector.  _ He knew Ser  Arys to be one of his more capable members of the  Kingsguard , a bitter loss to their ranks when he sailed to Dorne with  Myrcella . 

She kicked her chair and skirted around the table, throwing herself towards him. Jaime caught her in his arms and held her there for as long as she allowed. She smelt of honeysuckle and jasmine. In his arms, she felt so slight and small; he had to remind himself that she was a young woman now and not still a child.  _ How could we produce such purity?  _

‘Gods that was hot.’ Their guide stood in front of them, removing their hood to reveal her face. Dark ringlets tumbled free from their restraint, tamed only by a gold circlet at the top of her head. With the rest of the cloak removed, he knew her to be a young woman, a little older than  Myrcella, also dressed in  Dornish finery. She took her place beside the knight. 

‘I’m sorry for the secrecy, my Lords. My father was adamant this was handled furtively. I am Arianne and this is my brother Trystane. I believe you know the others.’ 

_ ‘ _ Princess Arianne and Prince Trystane, what is this?’ Bronn coughed beside him. ‘This is my companion Ser Bronn by the way.’ 

Then they explained all as Jaime and Bronn took a seat before them and  Myrcella returned to her place at the head of table. She recalled the visit of Sansa Stark which had given her the inspiration to finally take action against her own mother. She explained how they intended to free Tommen, as Sansa Stark had already informed him, and that they had been hidden in Dorne to throwCersei off and avoid being forcefully taken back. 

‘Everything’s in place. Mother’s trial will be held in the Great Sept of  Baelor and half the city will be there, the other half waiting outside. If we can catch Tommen before he leaves, we should be able to get him out of the city.’ She looked to her companions and they nodded. ‘Of course, having you on our side will make travelling much easier.’

‘Technically you’re still the Lord Commander,’ said Ser  Arys . 

‘Well I was asked to retrieve you-’ He smiled softly towards  Myrcella .

She jumped from her chair. ‘So, you’ll come with us? Help us get Tommen out?’ 

‘How could I refuse?’ 

The day of the trial fell upon them quickly. Jaime, Bronn, Ser  Arys ,  Trystane and  Myrcella travelled into the city on a merchant ship from Dorne that Princess Arianne arranged for them to be concealed amongst the merchandise. It was nearly too easy to emerge onto the harbour and begin the ascent towards the Red Keep. As predicted, the streets were swarming with excited bodies, packed in crowds perpetually moving towards the sept. It was difficult to tell which way they were hoping the decision would go, but either way no one was keen to miss out. They fell in easily with the crowds but working against the tide was a near impossible task. Jaime led the charge, holding onto  Myrcella’s arm who in turn held on to  Trystane who was linked with Ser  Arys . Bronn had gone ahead, passing through the side-streets and alleys to ensure the path ahead was clear. 

At one point, a hulking man stinking of ale fell upon them and he lost his hold on  Myrcella’s arm. Frantically he beat back through the bodies but  Myrcella had pulled their party ahead and was the one to find and grab him, hauling them all towards the nearest empty street. When they were in the open, they all took a moment to brush themselves down and enjoy the fresh air and space. Ser  Arys groaned to find his coin purse missing, which only received muffled laughter from  Myrcella as she tried to hold in her amusement. 

The streets before them were nearly wholly devoid of people, the odd peasant running in the opposite direction towards the Sept. Otherwise, Jaime was almost convinced the city had been emptied out, if it weren’t for the lingering stink of dirt, sweat and shit. There were few guards patrolling the streets and those that they did pass paid them little attention. Several called to them that they were going the wrong way but none thought to enquire as to why they weren’t with the others or who these strange hooded figures were. 

From an alleyway, Bronn skipped forward to meet them, his crinkled eyes twinkling as he recalled his trip to the keep. 

‘It’s bloody dead up there, like they want us to break into the bugger.’ They followed him through side-streets as they neared the prow of the hill, only once having to duck behind a low wall as a Citywatchman passed.

_ There’s no need for this sneaking around.  _ Jaime thought to himself as they reached the castle.  _ There will be when we kidnap the King but for now, who would question the Lord Commander of the  _ _ KingsGuard _ _ , a member of the Kingsguard, a knight, a Prince of Dorne or the King’s sister?  _ Myrcella and  Arys had insisted they tried to avoid being seen on their way in. She tried to convince them that she was just taking extra precautions but he could see the truth in her eyes.  _ If we’re caught, we’d be taken to Cersei. That’s what she’s afraid of.  _

‘We have urgent business with the King, I presume he is still in his chambers?’ Jaime led them when they reached the front gate. He had considered using the same door to get in as the one he used to free Tyrion and Brienne but there was no guarantee it hadn’t been found in his absence and locked up or heavily guarded.  _ I’ll walk in with purpose and no one will question me. If they try to send me to Cersei, I’ll simply refuse.  _ They were well aware that Tommen was still in the Keep, and Cersei too; both the royal litters still waited in the courtyard. 

‘As you were Lord Commander.’ The guard at the door let them pass with ease, stopping only as  Myrcella stepped through the gate. ‘Princess?’ 

They didn’t stop to confirm his suspicions,  _ word will spready quickly now, we cannot waste any time or we’ll never make it back out again _

‘Uncle Jaime?  Myrcella ?.’ It had been easy to convince the  Kingsguard to allow his Lord Commander and brother into the King’s chambers. Jaime didn’t know the name of this one, another  extension of Cersei, he predicted. At the opening of the door, Tommen, seated at a desk, turned to face them and jumped up when he realised who they were. 

He was dressed in red and gold robes, his curls flattened from holding the crown that was currently sat down on a table near his door. His doors had been flung open to the balcony, letting in the cool autumnal breezes of the season.  _ Winter breezes,  _ he corrected himself,  _ the Stark’s words have finally come true.  _

Myrcella was the first to step forward, grasping her brother’s hands, her face glowing by the light. ‘Brother!’ She seized him tightly into her chest. She was marginally taller than him but both appeared far older that Jaime had ever imagined they could be. Where were the babes in arms Cersei had presented the King with so many years ago? Where were the children he pretended to ignore but secretly longed to hold, to cherish? Tommen appeared tired, the crown weighing down upon him even when not on his head and  Myrcella had cast aside her  naivety to lead them here.

‘What are you doing here?’ He looked over to their small group when his sister released him, ‘have you come for the trial?’

‘We’ve come for you, Tommen. It’s not safe here anymore, but we can go somewhere no one can hurt us.’ She grasped hold of him arms and squeezed in excitement. 

‘For me?’ He shook her off and took her step back, looking to Jaime for an answer. 

Ser  Arys responded instead. ‘As your  Kingsguard it’s my duty to protect you. After what happened to your brother and the way your mother is heading,  Myrcella convinced me that getting you out of the city would be best for you.’ 

He took a moment to process it, his brow furrowed in thought. He turned his back on them and gazed out across the city. ‘I’m sorry you’ve gone to this trouble but I will not be leaving. I am the King and I will not leave my people. If you don’t want to be seen, I advise you to leave quickly, I shall be fetched soon to travel to the Sept.’ The Sept loomed ahead of him, tiny people waiting outside like ants. His voice was cold, harsh. 

Myrcella shook her head and moved to stand beside him. ‘This isn’t what you want Tom. You always said you wanted to be  Maester or a Septon. You wanted to learn all you could, read every book and be as wise as Uncle Tyrion.’ 

Tommen smiled briefly before resuming. ‘You don’t understand. You’ve been gone too long. I can’t leave.’ 

‘Yes, you can!’ She took his arm and made to pull him back round. He shrugged her off but turned to face them all.

‘I cannot leave, I have a duty to stay. Besides,’ he lowered his voice, ‘I’m the only obstacle in mother’s way. I know she wouldn’t hurt me, so as long as I’m here, alive, she doesn’t have all the power. If I leave, I’ll be giving the realm to mother and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. You haven’t seen her, Myrcella, she grows more furious every day since they whipped her through the streets. There are few people she doesn’t hate and those people are equally cruel and merciless.’

‘But, Tom?’

‘I’m keeping the people safe. Isn’t that what a King is supposed to do?’ He rested a palm on his sister’s cheek and smiled sadly. ‘I know I won’t be safe forever but I can’t be the King who gave up, who ran away and left his people to who knows what.’ 

A single tear ran down  Myrcella’s cheek. Jaime wanted to step in and try to change his son’s mind but it was clear he was set on it. He’d never seen the young, round boy he’d known show so much resolve but, then again, that was not the same boy. This boy was a King; young, but no fool and no tool of Cersei either.  Myrcella pulled in a shaky breath and nodded, lifting a hand to wipe at the tear. 

‘This will be over soon.’ She  smiled, her voice choked. ‘Everything will return to normal again, I promise.’ 

_ You can’t promise that, not even the greatest soothsayer could promise that.  _

_ ‘ _ You have to go, now. I shouldn’t be late for the trial.’ He smirked, ‘perhaps they’ll find her guilty and I’ll have nothing to fear.’ 

‘Perhaps.’  Myrcella smiled, pulling away from her brother and back towards Jaime. He gave a reassuring smile and she nodded though he wasn’t as certain about Tommen’s decision.  _ Joffrey being King never stood in her way and Tommen’s softer than his older brother.  _ He couldn’t find the words to warn him.

‘Be careful, Tommen. You can’t trust anyone.’ The boy King had already sat back down, facing the wall. Jaime let out a slight sigh and sweeping his arm over Myrcella, and he led her out. 

They made through the castle slowly, no longer having to sneak the King out. There was still the chance they’d come across Cersei but something told Jaime she wasn’t rushing to attend her own trial. As they walked, he couldn’t help but consider the situation- something felt wrong but he couldn’t pinpoint what he was feeling. When they’d walked through the streets, the crowds had been rushing to reach the Sept, near trampling  eachother and the castle was deserted. Everyone who had the opportunity was in or around the Sept yet Cersei and Tommen remained. As they emerged into the courtyard, not to his surprise, they found both litters still waiting to leave.  _ Peasants are not keen on waiting around all day when they have other jobs that need doing, why would they all descend upon the Sept at once unless the trial was due to start soon?  _ He imagined his sister would enjoy the drama of arriving late, but they were well into the afternoon by now. 

In a strange,  melancholy silence, they made their way back towards the docks. They hadn’t necessarily failed, they’d reached Tommen but he’d refused, but the outcome was anything but satisfying. 

‘We could go to the trial?’  Myrcella smiled hopefully as they passed yet more empty streets. 

He’d thought about it himself.  _ Gods I’d like to see them pick her apart for her sins. Our sins. I’d love to see her struggle the way she made Tyrion struggle. ‘ _ We can’t. They’ll be too many guards and nobility sniffing around. It’s too much of a risk.’ 

Myrcella nodded but remained silent.  _ Perhaps she too was looking forward to seeing Cersei torn apart. _

‘We don’t have to return to Dorne just yet, princess.’ Ser Arys offered. ‘We can find somewhere to stay near the city and plan our next moves. The King may be protected in some other manner.’ 

‘I like the sound of that. We can send word to Arianne and Prince Doran.’ Her face brightened. ‘They might have some ideas and-’

The sky exploded. 

In an instant the world was covered in bright green like Jaime had never seen before. 

‘Wildfire.’ Bronn was the first to speak, he’d seen Blackwater Bay lit up by Tyrion when Stannis fell upon the city. 

They could hear screams in the distance, accompanied by a great rattling and the sound of stone falling upon stone, smashing upon impact. The buildings either side obscured their view of the skyline but it didn’t take Jaime long understand what had happened. 

‘She’s blown up the Sept!’ He called. People were beginning to flood into the streets. They must have been far enough away when it had happened and were rushing back to their homes and businesses. Their group was scattered in the wide street. He reached out and roughly grabbed  Myrcella’s arm. ‘We’re going to get Tommen. Stay with Ser  Arys , we’ll meet you at the ship.’ 

Myrcella tried to pull away from his grip but he only relented when the white knight seized her. She writhed and struggled but eventually Ser  Arys wrenched her into a good position and began marching her away, followed closely by  Trystane . 

‘Back we go.’ Bronn quipped as he pushed through a wailing woman to reach Jaime. 

In an instant they were both racing in the opposite direction, back up towards the keep.  _ I don’t care what morals Tommen thinks bind him to that throne. I will not lose another son to it or to her. I don’t care if I have to drag him out of here and fight off the entire fucking guard. I won’t let her have him, she’s lost her mind.  _

He had no doubts that she was behind this. She knew they would find her guilty and she would lose her power. She lit up the same caches of wildfire King  Aerys was about to use to level the city. Had his sister become worse than the mad king he’d been forced to murder? If so, was it not his duty to do the same? 

_ If I find her, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself. But I won’t go looking, Tommen is my priority.  _

No one stopped them as they pushed back into the castle. They fell in amongst servants, maids, squires and anyone else who had some reason to take shelter in the keep. Once free, Jaime’s legs carried him up the stairs towards Tommen’s tower, ignoring his burning muscles and shortness of breath. The guard on the door attempted to stop him but no man could’ve stood between him and his son. 

‘Tommen!’ 

At first, Jaime couldn’t locate his son and thought he was too late. Cersei had already snatched him up and hidden him from the world. When he looked around a second time however, his eyes lingered over the balcony, where Tommen was watching the scene unfold. Only as Jaime drew closer did he realise that he wasn’t just standing on the balcony, one of his feet was mid-step up onto the arch. 

At his name Tommen turned around, almost losing his balance, he had fresh tears in his eyes. ‘All those people,’ was all he could choke out. 

Jaime took the chance to assess the damage. Green smoke still covered much of the city but he could just about see the Sept, or at least what remained of it. The building no longer stood proudly upon  Visenya’s hill. The seven crystal towers that extended into the clouds had collapsed in on themselves, falling upon the yard below. Other nearby buildings had been destroyed too, stone crumbling and thrown across streets. It didn’t do well to imagine how many people had been waiting inside or near enough to the blast outside. He guessed much of the council would’ve been taken out alongside a great number of the high Lords and Ladies of court.  _ And in an instant, Cersei’s opposition fades into nothing.  _

‘Come on, Tommen. It’s time to go.’ He took hold of his son’s arm, finding he hadn’t yet dropped his foot from its hold on the arched open window. 

‘I was wrong. I was never a threat to her.’ 

‘Tommen you can’t blame yourself, we have to leave.’ There was a touch of  desperation in his voice. 

‘It is my fault though. I should’ve seen this coming. I’m the King and I should protect my people but I couldn’t stop my own mother from killing them. The Gods will curse us all for this, but me especially. I can’t-I.’ He couldn’t finish his sentence, another crash brought his attention back to the Sept. A nearby building had just tumbled to the ground. 

‘Let’s go now. We can bring justice for these people later. You’re not safe, we have a boat waiting.’ 

Tommen didn’t seem to hear. ‘She can hurt all these people but she kept me safe up here, miles from the blast. She thinks nothing will hurt me here, she thinks she can protect me. I was wrong, I cannot stop her. I can’t - b-but I can do this.’ 

Tommen looked to Jaime, his eyes as resolute as before, and wrenched himself free of his grasp. ‘I’m sorry, father.’ Jaime’s hand had relaxed in his shock and Tommen used the chance to wrench free from his grasp. Without hesitated, he lifted himself upon the arch, raised his arms, and let himself tip over the edge.

‘Tommen!’

Jaime grasped the air but he had been far too slow. He flinched as he heard the sound of his body reaching the ground and turned, bile welling in his throat.  _ He knew me. He looked at me like he knew me and called me father.  _

Someone rushed up beside him and peered over the age. It was then that he realised someone else was in the room with him beside Bronn, and had called out Tommen’s name when he fell. Without thinking he held up a hand and stopped her, pulling her away from the balcony though she struggled and cried out. Her fists curled into chests and beat his chest but soon at last, she relented, her hands clutching at his cloak. Hand shakily covering her mouth,  Myrcella fell hard upon her knees, her eyes shut tight. She cried out as if in agony and he ran to meet her, covering her hunched body with his own. He looked upwards. Ser  Arys and the Prince stood behind her, both out of breath, both expressionless. It was clear she’d freed herself and chased him back up to the keep. By their heaving cheats it was clear too they’d tried their best to catch up but her long legs and lack of heavy armour had given her a cruel advantage. 

‘Can’t stay here, mate.’ Bronn was above them, a hand on Jaime’s shoulder. As always, his voice was cool, calm. Jaime inched his head upwards. The room was just as it was before they’d arrived, but despite the furniture, it seemed empty, drained. He wanted to hold her there, curled up on the floor, until she bid him to stop but he also knew they’d already been too lucky in not coming across Cersei.  _ Someone will find the body below. Someone will alert the guards and she’ll come running. She’ll come running as if this had nothing to do with her.  _ He gritted his teeth and cursed her name. 

He followed his  sellsword’s advice, lifting himself off of  Myrcella and forcing himself on his feet. The others only gave him looks of sympathy, too afraid to speak. He felt as if he had been winded by a sharp blow to the chest. He could hardly think, hardly speak. He leant down and offered his daughter a hand. Reluctantly, she looked up to him, big green eyes red and raw from crying, and took it. Holding her hand, Jaime began to walk her from the room, but stopped when he found her resisting. She was standing still behind him, holding her ground. He dropped her hand and raised his eyebrow. She smiled. 

‘I’m not going with you.’ She was quiet, her eyes downcast.

‘Yes, you fucking are.’  _ I’ve just lost my second  _ _ son, _ _ my sister is insane and my brother is probably dead. You are all I have.  _

‘No, I’m not.’ Her voice was firm though it threatened to tremble. ‘Tommen wanted to stay here to stop our mother. If I leave, I’ll be handing her the crown but if I stay-’ 

‘You’ll be Queen.’ The words sounded unnatural as he spoke them. She girl who just lost her brother to the throne was willing to sit on it herself. ‘But Cersei will still be regent. Today only shows she won’t let her children stand in the way.’

‘But she won’t be regent.’ She extended her hand outwards to  Trystane who moved passed Jaime to take it. ‘I’m of age, a young woman flowered and engaged to be married. She will be Queen mother at best.’ 

‘I will stay at your side my Queen, as always.’ Ser  Arys stepped forward and knelt before her.

‘Rise, my good knight. You will not stay with me.’

‘But I am a sworn brother of the  Kingsguard , it is my duty and honour to protect you.’ He remained on his knees. 

‘And nobody could’ve protected me better so I release you from your oaths and your duties.’ 

He looked up, heartbroken. Jaime supposed this was wildly different from when Ser  Barriston was stripped of his titles. ‘Where will I go, your Grace?’

‘To Dorne, my Knight. Go to your Princess, be with her while you both still can.’ Her smile was soft, benevolent. She looked down at him through her eyelashes, clumped together from crying. To Jaime she looked divine. 

‘I will stay here, marry  Trystane and keep Cersei from the crown as long as I can, just as Tommen wanted.’ The  Dornish Prince squeezed her hand and Jaime reminded himself to thank Tyrion for his choice of Myrcella’s match. 

‘And me? I cannot stay here.’  _ I should tell her she’s being foolish. I should pick up her and carry her back to safety. She’d hate me for it, though. I can’t even argue with her. _

‘Go North, both of you. Sansa Stark told me she’d come back South once she took Winterfell back and she’s done that so you should catch her on the way down. In a strange way, she’s family so you have to look out for her.’ 

Jaime stepped forward and pressed her tightly into his chest. She’d been a weeping pile on the floor just minutes ago and now she commanded them. When he pulled away, he placed both his flesh and golden hands either said of her face, holding her still. ‘You know what this did to both your brothers? You know what you are doing?’ 

‘Don’t worry about me father. What is it that they say about dying in Essos?’ She widened her pretty eyes.

‘ Valor Morgulis.’ 

‘All men must die. My brothers died, but that doesn’t mean I have to. And-’ her voice lowered, ‘if I do, I know it’ll be for a good reason.’ She copied his actions, placing both palms on his cheeks. ‘Now you listen to me. When you and Sansa reach the city, I’ll yield it. I’ll ring out the bells upon the gates and personally escort her to Cersei and the throne, if she wants it. You tell Sansa that I’ll try my best to make sure she doesn’t have to fight. I’ll do what I can.’ 

Jaime breathed heavily.  _ What did I do to deserve her? From mine and Cersei’s depravities a spirit of the Gods emerged, willing to put herself in between the people and Cersei even after she’s seen others try and fail before her.  _ He knew she was doing the right thing- handing his sister the crown was the only outcome he was trying to avoid but when he looked in her eyes, he couldn’t help but dream of picking her up and taking her as far from this hell as he could. He caught himself looking over his features, imprinting everything about her into his memory. He’d not known his children as they grew up and he hadn’t had the chance to get to know Joffrey or Tommen at all.  Myrcella was all he had left but she still felt like a stranger to him. 

His concentration was broken by the sound of a scream from outside, followed by marching steel boors. He dropped his arms, shot her one last pained look and let Bronn and Ser  Arys lead him out. Before he left, he heard a mewling at his feet. Tommen’s cat was writing between his legs, desperate for attention perhaps, or aware of what had happened. Tommen had been so elated when he’d been gifted the kitten, promising never to let it come to harm and naming it Ser Pounce. Joffrey had tried to catch the poor thing but Tommen always stood up for his pet, even if it was against his older brother.  _ He kept his promise.  _

_ Gods, I’ve gone insane.  _ He wasn’t sure what he was doing but he scooped the cat up into his arms, pressing its fluffy body across his chest and securing it with his golden hand. When Bronn and Ser  Arys turned to see what he was doing, they both went to make a comment but neither spoke. With one hand on his blade and the other  acround Ser Pounce, Jaime made his way back down the tower and out of the keep. 

_ I wished I could say this will be the last time I’ll walk these halls but I know I’ll be back. When I return, Cersei will not be so lucky as to not come across  _ _ me .I _ _ will seek her out and bring the same justice down upon her as I did to the Mad King. If she hurts a hair on  _ _ Myrcella’s _ _ head though, I won’t stab her in the back – I'll make it last. I will make her suffer.  _

When her coronation came, they raised their cups to her-

‘Long live Queen Myrcella of House Lannister, first of her name, Queen of the  Andals and the First Men.’ 

In the halls of Winterfell, they raised their cups to her-

‘Long live Queen Sansa of House Stark, first of her name, Queen of the North and Burned Wolf of Winterfell.’

In her dreams, they raised their cups to her-

‘Long live Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the  Andals and the First Men.’ 

In the frozen lands beyond the wall, no cups were raised and no words were said but he marched on: creator, destroyer,  _ King _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! Actually it's not. Sansa's story will continue in the next part of the series 'The Dangers of Fair Maidens in Silver Crowns'. Be sure to check it out! Thank you to everyone for reading this far and for all of the comments and kudos. Hope you read on and keep enjoying!


	22. The Sequel

I'm not sure how notifications work and if you're able to see new posts within a series but the next work is up and the first chapter has been published.


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